


Broken man

by mrs_javert



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Aftermath, Anxiety Attacks, Confusion, Forgiveness, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Javert's Suicide, Mental Breakdown, Mental Institutions, Panic Attacks, Restraints, Suicidal Thoughts, failed suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-16
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-01 18:52:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 66,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_javert/pseuds/mrs_javert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Seine should have swallowed him, pulled him under, damned his soul and granted him the death he sought.</p><p>Having been pulled close to death from the river, his body may have healed but his mind is as fractured as the moment he plunged into the water. With no one to turn to Javert is condemned to a mental asylum and left to the mercy of his own ravaged thoughts.</p><p>Updated: Initially a one shot, this story shall now be continued. <br/>Can Javert accept the help of a most unexpected source, and can they together help him rebuild his shattered life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In Victor Hugo's Les Miserables book Javert is, just prior to his suicide, a man at war with himself about wether to arrest Valjean. It is not a simple Yes/No decision and, for Javert, there is no correct answer other than to remove himself from the equation. It is as if two sides of his personality are quite literally fighting each other. 
> 
> Now add to that how his appearance is a complete wreck in the stage version during his suicide and then combine the two - basically he's had/having a major mental breakdown.
> 
> I wondered what would happened if he survived the suicide attempt in his current mental state.
> 
> I am unsure wether to leave this as a one shot or to add more to it. I do have a plot planned where things get a little better for our Inspector, please do comment as I would a) love to know if anybody is out there and reading this and b) wether you would like me to continue.

Broken Man.

"Damnation...", a whisper.  
Silence followed, as cold as the night itself.  
"Damnation...", again.  
"Damnation...", the whisper grew.  
The words, seething frustration, faded to nothing after each utterance in the dark, soul destroying, confines.  
Darkness enveloped the cell in almost its entirety, a small barred window set high up the wall well above the occupants head permitted the entry of only a very small amount of the cold moonlight.  
Below this window sat the wretched, rag clad, being to whom the cell was now home.  
There he sat alone in the shadows, a broken man, his back resting against the cold, damp stone of the wall. Damp, stale straw over the stone floor and a bucket for necessities were the only items he had been permitted.  
His legs sprawled out straight before him were covered by ragged trousers with a hole forming at one knee.  
His feet were bare and caked with dirt. His ankles were rubbed raw, the flesh bloody and torn where his shackles had been fastened in place.  
The shackles secured a short length of strong chain, no more than a few inches in length, allowing him to take very small stumbling steps when he rarely raised himself to his filthy feet.  
This man, this figure of intense torment, sat hunched forward. His head fell forward, burying his face in his equally dirty hands.  
His wrists too were shackled together, another bloody mess of torn and scraped skin underneath the rusting metal showed clearly the full force of a man who had regularly struggled so fiercely against them.  
The wretch's final restraint was a rusty metal collar, firmly locked in place around his neck, from which a chain atleast a metre long ran to an iron ring secured to the wall. This length of chain enabled the ragged man to sit down, to stand up, but to go no further. He was tethered, like a dog.  
"Damnation..."  
The voice whispered again, his face buried in his hands which were in turn obscured by his long and bedraggled dark grey hair which hung loose and forlorn.  
The whisper was gruff.  
"Damnation...Eternal Damnation!"  
With each whisper the man's breathing began to increase in intensity, force, and aggression.  
The man ran his fingers into his long greying hair, bunching up a fistful of the hair to the rattle of his wrist shackles.  
"Damnation!!"  
His whisper became a voice, finally penetrating the darkness.  
"Damnation for *your* crimes!", the figure sneered, clenching his fingers and pulling at his fistful of hair.  
"Damnation for *your* deeds!".  
Releasing the hair the man struggled against his shackles with all his strength, pulling his wrists apart in an attempt to force a link to break.  
The chains chinked and rattled in response but did not yield, holding ever firm against the struggle.  
"Damnation for *your* redemption!".  
He grew louder still, his voice filling with danger and spite as he ceased fighting the wrist shackles.  
His hands reached for his accursed neck collar and tugged at it, then reached up for the chain that held him collared to the wall and pulled, an animalistic growl emanating deep from within him as he did so.  
"My damnation for *your* redemption Valjean!!???"  
After fighting it with all his strength the chain failed to give. The man slumped down, his back against the wall, panting from exertion and rage.  
"Is this justice Valjean?", he rambled letting out a vast sigh and cast his eyes down as his unstable thoughts continued tormenting him.  
"Is it justice that a moral man, a just man, a just...thief, a just...criminal, go free?".  
He gave his wrist shackles a slight tug, the chain clinked sharply in reply, biting his flesh in confirmation of its presence in response.  
"And is it just and right that Javert wear the shackles in your place Valjean?".  
Silence prevailed for some moments, his uneven thoughts weighing up the pros and cons of the question, before he leant forward and spoke again, raising his chained wrists before his eyes and staring at them.  
"It is just", he looked down and, in answer to his own question, dropped his wrists back into his lap.  
Sighing in resignation he closed his eyes for several seconds.  
"It is just"  
"It is right"  
"It... is... just..."  
There was silence again before his eyes suddenly snapped open once more, wild and burning with sudden outrage.  
"But it is not the law!", he spat tugging at his wrists again.  
Once more he fought at his damned bonds, desperate to free himself from the shackles which tore away yet more flesh with each frantic tug and twist of his wrists.  
"Is there one law for Valjean now and one law for the rest?", he snarled, sheer venom resonating through his voice, "NO!".  
"There is only law! One law! The law!"  
Once again his resistance peaked, his wrists and ankles twisting and pulling in desperation, his collar chain holding him in his filthy patch of ground by the wall, choking him each time he pulled forward against it. And then he calmed as his fight once again began to leave him.  
As his body relaxed and he fell back against the wall in resignation he felt the warmth of the blood trickling from his wrists and seeping into the rags of his filthy trousers.  
He breathed deeply several times where he sat, attempting to compose himself and calm his fractured thoughts.  
"But what of the law of God?", he spoke out suddenly, eyes wide with alarm.  
He looked up and strained his body forward, turning his head desperately to try and glimpse the small barred window above him beyond which held the night sky and it's stars.  
The chain of his collar became taught as he leant. The window was not to be seen from his position.  
He lowered his eyes in dejection and, head bowed, dropped back to his former position.  
"The law of God...", he repeated, "authority... higher authority... I failed it".  
"I did not merely fail it...", he shook his head as he felt a wave of deep shame, "I broke it. Gods law... The ultimate of all sins".  
He sat unmoving in total silence for seconds that bit with sheer cold.  
"Suicide!", he finally spat the word.  
Silence again, as if the word had left the foul taste of shame in his mouth.  
A faint clink of one of his chains sounded as he breathed.  
"Valjean could have killed me at the barricade", he muttered before looking up, "Valjean SHOULD have killed me at the barricade!".  
Quickly his breathing grew rapid and once more the chains holding him were struggled against. The pain of the shackles digging deep into the flesh of his wrists and ankles no longer registered as his mind sped and a surge of adrenalin rushed through his tattered body.  
"My life will NOT be saved by a CONVICT!", he again began to raise his voice until he cried out for all his worth - "A bullet in the back would have at least been honourable Valjean!!!!".  
Struggling to change position he finally shuffled to his scuffed knees, all the while pulling at his bloodied wrist shackles.  
"You cannot go free Valjean! You cannot go free! The law forbids it!"  
In desperation the figure raised his wrists closer to his face and bit fiercely into the chain that secured them. A taste of metal, dirt and blood filled his mouth as his teeth - the only weapon available to him - tried in vain to break the chain.  
He growled with all his might as he bit, the blood of his wounded wrists seeping into his mouth.  
Once more, the chain did not give under the strain of this latest onslaught.  
Acknowledging this defeat, he released the chain and thumped the stone floor with all his force before falling forward, crumpled in a heap against the wall and gasping as the chained collar prevented him from falling completely to the floor.  
"You cannot go free Valjean... You cannot go free...", he repeated in manic breaths leaning his forehead against the stone of the wall, "...and yet... Yet I could not arrest you!".  
"Your freedom is an abomination..." he hissed, verbally working through his broken, disordered thoughts, "and that...that, Valjean is why I had to die".  
He stifled something that was almost a chuckle, "it was at least... Why I *tried* to die".  
"Valjean your almost 'Holy' goodness mocks me...", he rambled into the stone, the only thing that was ever willing to listen, "I strive on the side of justice for decades and yet you...this...this...convict-come-Saint brings me to heel like a dog!".  
He placed a strong, distasteful emphasis on the word "dog".  
He struggled harshly once again, his chains clanking and rattling as he fought, shook and pulled at them like a wounded animal frantically attempting to escape a trap. One chain was all that needed to break, just one.  
A cold sweat formed all over his body as his breathing became rapid and more intense. He felt his heart rate increase rapidly, roaring in his chest out of control as his pulse began to race.  
His mind blurred, a frenzy of images flashed through his mind of encounters with Valjean, of taking that one fateful step off the Pont au Change bridge, the water, the cold, cold water... He could feel his pulse race even faster in his neck as his thoughts raced out of control...  
And then everything stopped.  
The wretched form of the Police Inspector fell limp against the wall, his body was wracked with an uncontrollable shaking, his breath being drawn in frenzied gasps.  
What little light there was glinted off something watery as tears began to stream their way down his face, dripping unwiped from his chin.  
He hung there sobbing, his collar chain preventing him from collapsing completely.  
"Kill me Valjean...", his cracked voice begged.  
"Please Valjean..."  
"Kill me..."

End.


	2. "Instead I live... But live in Hell"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is now several months since Javert was confined to the asylum where he remians chained, tormented by his disturbed thoughts, and forgotten about - condemned, it would seem, to his fate.
> 
> Outside it is winter. The cell is cold, it's stone damp and Javert's health is failing.

Broken Man - Chapter 2

"It was my right to die as well  
Instead I live... but live in hell."

With the rattle of a chain the figure in the shadows leant forward, reaching out with his shackled wrists to grasp the rusted metal cup that contained his meagre daily ration of drinking water.  
His dirty hands retrieved it just as his neck chain pulled his collar, preventing him from leaning any further forward.  
He sat back, the cold of the stone wall seeping into every muscle of his aching back as he looked down into the cup.  
The dark of the night made it too hard to see but from the weight of it he could tell there was not much left.  
He took a deep breath then breathed out slowly, placing the cup down within reach next to him.  
His chest rattled as he exhaled, as it had done for the last few days, and within a moment he began to cough violently. His chains chinked as every harsh cough shook them.  
Reaching out for the cup, he grasped it with both chained hands and brought it to his mouth.  
The water, as ever, tasted dull. His fatigued muscles relaxed as he felt the cold liquid wash it's way down his throat as he drank, soothing - at least temporarily - that which sickened him.  
The cup was now almost empty and he placed it back down, acknowledging the need to conserve what little remained of his water until morning when it would be replaced.  
He shuffled uncomfortably where he sat on the ground, chains clinking as he moved, turning himself to sit leaning side on to the wall, his head resting against the stone.  
Javert sighed. Illness was not something which had regularly afflicted him in life.  
On the very rare occasion that he had fallen ill, his attitude had been to simply get on with his job, show no obvious weakness for criminals or victims to see, and to ensure he then got a good nights rest during his own personal time. A subordinate would have to be at deaths door before Javert would dismiss him from duty for the day, and even then it was merely to preserve efficiency by removing a sick man from the company of his men.  
His men, he thought... His men were long gone. Perhaps they spoke of him occasionally... Perhaps he was forgotten to them... Or perhaps he was something best not spoken of.  
Javert closed his troubled eyes as he leant against the wall, his cold legs bunched up alongside him for warmth.  
He reached down with his hands and adjusted an ankle shackle that was rubbing a particularly raw piece of flesh. It stung greatly as it was disturbed but he managed to pull the accursed thing down just enough to relieve the pain, at least a little, from the bloodied sore his ankle bore.  
His men might have forgotten him, but what of Valjean?  
He wondered deeper, sensing within him that the dark, confused, thoughts that regularly attacked and violated his once proud and rigidly controlled mind were again brimming to the surface.  
He fought this powerful demon every night, fighting to be spared from the war within his own personality that tore him between thoughts of an urge to rip his chains from the wall and hunt down his just and legal prey, and thoughts that made him long desperately for his own death, be at his own hands... Or often, those of Valjean. Would that be justice?  
"Does he now live like a king?", Javert asked himself as the thoughts stirred like ripples in his mind, "does he take a daily stroll, pressing coins into the hands of gutter life, ever the good Christian?".  
He wheezed, his teeth gritting in utter resentment as he envisioned the thought of Valjean, the ever patronising, handing out coins to the filth and pickpockets of the street.  
Another ragged cough brought him briefly out of his deepening thoughts, his breathing rasping as his irritation aimed at Valjean tensed him.  
He would not fight his infernal chains tonight. His will was ever present yet his strength was not. The smallest of movements were provocation enough for his ailment to rob him of breath.  
"Valjean is redeemed...", he whispered, "Valjean is redeemed. Javert... It is Javert who is damned, Javert who MUST be damned."  
Even now, months after jumping from the Pont au Change bridge, Javert still struggled to fathom which path - arresting Valjean or allowing him freedom - was correct.  
The thoughts twisted and turned, fighting intensely for dominance on a nightly basis, swirling his mind into a turmoil of right mixed with wrong.  
"His sins are wiped clean...", he insisted into himself in the darkness, "his life has meaning... Those around him prosper...".  
Another cough wracked him harshly, then a hushed silence fell.  
His eyes darted in unease, wild like an animal, his traumatised mind processing the torrent of disordered thoughts that ever tormented him.  
"Parole...parole breaking", he began as he sat up straight with an air of alertness, "his crime remains! His crime cannot simply be un-committed!".  
His chained hands bunched into fists before him, hands that could so easily have grasped Valjean tightly all those months ago like the claws of an eagle swooping on its prey.  
"The law says arrest!", he rasped and then suddenly fell back into a dejected position, his shoulders slumped ,"...but morality says no."  
Once again his nauseating cough took a hold of him, his ability to breathe once again hindered until it passed.  
The sensation, the inability to grasp the smallest of breaths, revived fragmented memories of drowning.  
"And Javert...", he gasped, "Javert is no more... Javert must bare this damnation, brought upon himself... This damnation deserved..."  
He closed his eyes, his soul feeling as dark as the cell itself.  
The cold of the stone emanated into his head as he leant. Opening his eyes Javert could clearly see his own loathsome breath in the tiny amount of moonlight that entered.  
It was indeed a very cold night.  
Before his tiredness could envelop him he again felt the rattle within his chest as he breathed.  
Slowly Javert took one more breath and braced himself before the cough returned.  
Each cough again shook his body, a relentless attack that continued unabated, sparing him scarcely any mercy to allow breath.  
Reaching out again, Javert grabbed his bucket, an item of humiliation, and spat into it the vile mucus his illness was causing the cough to dredge up from his infected chest.  
He sat unmoving for several moments, exhausted, steadying his breathing once again and pushed the bucket away in disgust.  
Once more he slumped, leaning his side against the wall. His back had become terribly sore in places where the stone had rubbed over the months during which he had spent chained to this spot.  
Once more he leant his head against the stone, his back feeling the obvious relief but his chest aching terribly from the strain of the coughing.  
He closed his eyes and tried to breathe slowly. He knew from the last few nights that this was a position he could eventually fall asleep in. His neck chain was slack and his body slowly relaxed as sleep finally took him - although the nightmares never left him.

End Chapter 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who are reading!  
> I can assure you all that this IS going somewhere and there IS a plot. Things just had to get a little worse for our Inspector before I can start to make things better - You will see.
> 
> Thank you to ztirfhal9000 and LawrVert from our little Twitter gang for listening to me explain the plot to come.
> 
> Please, please do keep reading and I really do appreciate comments as it makes it all feel worth it :)


	3. You must think me mad!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javert has languished in the asylum for 18 months, resigned to his fate, tormented by his broken mind and suffering ill health. His situation seems hopeless until the day a good samaritan takes pity on him, but is she all she appears?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to take this moment to say that I set this story in a world that is a mixture of both the book and stage versions of Les Mis. I adore both but there may be references to one or the other... This particular chapter references a suicide note titled "Some notes for the good of the service" that Javert leaves prior to his jump in the book.
> 
> Also, if anyone wonders which Javert I visualise this one as in my head. The only answer is the great Philip Quast.
> 
> Again, there is no greater feeling than the moment you see someone has left a review. So please, please... if you have read and enjoyed this and would like more please leave a note. (Grammer whores not needed as this is simply a fun hobby) . Thank you!

Broken Man - Chapter 3  
"You must think me mad"

"Madame, your generosity and charity towards the poor souls within this institution is of course greatly appreciated, but I really must say again that I do believe this is no place for a young lady".  
The young lady in question shook her head as she accompanied the man along the dank, depressing passageway.  
She held a wicker basket before her as she strolled along.  
"With all due respect, that is nonsense Monsieur Loiselet. My good husband made quite the same remark himself but my mind was made up - we must help those in life who are less fortunate, those who have suffered hardship, those who are ill and those who are...".  
"Mad?", Monsieur Loiselet interjected, stopping the lady in her tracks.  
The lady looked down momentarily, biting her lip briefly.  
"Monsieur, I do not claim to have understanding of that which ails these souls, but if I can do something, anything, to make their lives more bearable - even just for a moment - then I will have done some good".  
Monsieur Loiselet nodded, making a warm smile.  
"I understand", he admitted, "it's just that we don't get many people visiting here. Most of these people have been abandoned to their fate and it is rare these days for anyone to care. Sympathy, you could say, is in short supply".  
The lady smiled back, glancing down at her basket before looking at the remaining iron door of the passageway.  
"You said there was one more?", she asked.  
In response Monsieur Loiselet began to walk again, "Yes, one more, the Policeman".  
"Policeman?", the lady asked, following close behind Monsieur Loiselet as he led the way.  
"Yes... It's become a nickname for him really, most of the inmates here were vagrants, beggars, tramps...but yes, this next one was a Policeman... of some standing too I believe".  
"Oh how awful!", the lady frowned as she followed Monsieur Loiselet's lead, "how ever does a Policeman end up in a place such as this?".  
Monsieur Loiselet sighed, "who can say?", he shrugged.  
He stopped as they reached the final door, it's locks bolted shut.  
"Well here he is anyway...", Loiselet gestured with his hand towards the locked door, "all we know is that he was highly regarded, a hard working policeman, and then one day something in his mind must have simply shattered".  
"Terrible", the lady replied as she regarded the imposing door, "but how did he come to be here?".  
Monsieur Loiselet looked down shaking his head.  
"It was a year and a half ago, during the time of the uprising attempt, when those barricades were going up and fighting taking place in the streets", Loiselet explained, "you remember it don't you?".  
"I do Monsieur", the lady spoke as the memory of that night surfaced in her mind, "such terrible waste, all those young lives".  
"Our Policeman was there", Loiselet continued, "I don't know what he did or what he saw, but something happened that night and he made a failed attempt at taking his own life. He was pulled from the Seine in the early hours, so far gone he was initially taken for dead".  
"That's dreadful!", the lady placed a gloved hand over her shocked mouth, "the poor man!".  
"When he was physically well enough he was sent to us from the hospital because he was becoming greatly agitated. The doctors and nurses feared for their safety, and his. You see, once the body is healed there is no more doctors can do".  
Monsieur Loiselet took a set of keys from where they hung on his belt.  
Placing a key in the lock he gave it a hefty turn, the lock responding by releasing with a heavy clink.  
He then reached up and pulled back a large bolt at the top of the door before lowering himself forward to release another one at the bottom of the door.  
He placed a hand firmly on the door and gave it a push. It's hinges gave a fierce metallic squeal as it reluctantly opened.  
"He's there", Loiselet pointed into the dim light of the cell, "by the wall".  
The lady took a single step in, her basket gripped tight in her apprehensive hands.  
"Some days he rambles, some days he fights his chains like an animal, screams, shouts, vows to come after someone from his past", Loiselet signed, "some days he is quiet, and some days he begs for someone, some name he often repeats, to come and kill him".  
"What a poor soul...", the lady whispered.  
Monsieur Loiselet stepped back into the passageway, pulling the door towards closing.  
"If he troubles you just leave, the door will not be locked", he instructed firmly, "if there is any problem, just call out and I will come".  
The lady bowed her head politely in response.  
"Thank you Monsieur".  
With that, the heavy door shut.

 

There was nothing but silence after the harsh door shut.  
After a period of several anxious moments the lady's vision adjusted to the light of the miserable cell.  
It was daylight but the small barred window high up the wall permitted entry to only a small amount of light.  
It was then, as she cast her eyes down from the forbidden light of the window, that she saw him.  
Unwittingly the lady made a small gasp as her eyes fell upon the chained man sat before her.  
He sat on the cold stone floor, his back against the wall.  
His knees were huddled up against his chest with his arms wrapped around them in an attempt to gain what little warmth was possible.  
His wrist and ankle shackles still held him securely despite his having fought them on a near daily basis.  
His metal collar and neck chain also remained unchanged having succeeded in holding him firmly in place over the past eighteen months.  
Unsure of quite what to do next, the lady stepped forward, approaching him with a few more gentle steps.  
The mans head was bowed, resting face first into his bunched up knees which were exposed to the cold air by holes worn into the poor fabric of his ragged trousers.  
Unsure if the man was sleeping the lady quietly cleared her throat, hoping to gain his attention.  
The man did not respond nor move in any way.  
After several seconds, and feeling quite uncertain of what she should do, the lady cleared her throat again, this time slightly louder.  
Nothing.  
Apprehension grew within the lady and, nervously biting her lip, she stepped even closer to the man.  
Bending down, she placed her basket down gently on the stone floor as she observed him closely.  
The rags he wore were filthy, grimy and damp from the moisture of the stone wall.  
Where he leant forward in his current position the lady could see holes worn into the rags on his back caused by months of the wall rubbing against his back.  
His trousers were equally filthy and covered in blotches and smears of stain that looked as if blood had dripped onto or been wiped against them.  
The lady watched him, hoping to see movement of some sort to prove to herself that he was at least breathing. Unease rose in her and, for a third time, she cleared her throat louder.  
"Madame...", a hoarse voice bristling with irritation finally spoke.  
The lady gasped loudly once more and jumped back, startled.  
"...I would strongly advise you to cease that infernal racket."  
The lady exhaled a quick breath, calming her suddenly excellerated heartbeat.  
"I'm sorry Monsieur, I'm very sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I thought you might have been unwell", the lady garbled quickly in a fluster, her heart still racing from the shock he had given her.  
Very slowly, the main raised his head to the sound of a chain faintly scraping the wall.  
His eyes were tired as he looked at her and attempted to focus, blinking hard yet slowly in fatigue.  
His long loose hair obscured some of his face and his once proud whiskers had grown to an unkempt beard.  
"What do you want girl?", the man spoke, all emotion missing from his cracked voice.  
With caution, the lady took a small uncertain step closer.  
"Monsieur, I have come here to distribute a few things that may be of use to the inmates here", the lady explained, bending down nearer the man once again.  
"Charity...", the man spat the word and turned his head away from her, ignoring her gaze, "I do not need nor do I desire your...*charity*".  
The lady looked down momentarily at the floor, a little embarrassed and quite unsure as to what to say or do.  
She considered leaving, giving up on this inmate who had brushed off her good intentions, shooing her off as one shoos off an irritating gnat.  
The other inmates had been more than receptive. Scared, loud and excitable as they may have been, the others had all accepted with gratitude the items delivered unto them from her basket.  
She glanced around the entire cell. Looking all around her and acknowledging it's dank, dark reality she took into consideration the many long isolated months during which the man had seen nothing of the world beyond it. She shuddered at the very thought.  
Casting her eyes back to the woeful man she decided that this was the soul she needed to render assistance to more than any.  
"Monsieur...", she began very meekly and paused...waiting.  
He did not react, remaining as he was.  
"Monsieur... I did not mean to cause offence and I sincerely apologise if I have in any way done so", the lady continued, "I just wished to hand out some items, do a little good... Help people."  
She stopped. Waiting for a response, an outburst or a request that she leave.  
Nothing. Stony silence.  
With each passing moment the lady felt herself feeling more uncomfortable with the situation, the awkward silence and one sided conversation leaving her at a loss for anything further to say.  
She observed the man as he sighed in irritation and leant his face back into his bent knees, his rusty neck chain rustling as he moved.  
"Does that hurt?", the lady asked, instantly regretting her childish and inappropriate question.  
The man raised his head again, staring at her with expression blank.  
"What?", he simply asked.  
The lady hoped she wasn't blushing from embarrassment at having asked something so ridiculous.  
"I...I... Just wondered", she stammered and pointed slightly at the chain locked to the man's collar, "that looks terribly uncomfortable...I just wondered if it hurt?".  
She swallowed hard, wanting to run.  
The man looked at her. His eyes were fixed intently on her, looking her up and down in an attempt to establish wether she were friend or foe. No one could be trusted on face value, this much he had known all his life.  
"Does this hurt?", the man repeated the question back at her.  
He raised his hands, gave his collar a tug then held out his shackled wrists towards her, the flesh torn, darkly bruised, and moist with the seeping of blood.  
"You are welcome to trade places", he said with a grim sneer to his tone, his eyes piercing as he watched her recoil, averting her eyes from the sight of his wounds, "and then you would find out".  
Before any could say another word, the man was shaken by his cough.  
He turned away from the lady, facing away from her, coughing hard and uncontrollably, yet trying to maintain a speck of both dignity and strength in the presence of a lady despite his chains rustling with each cough.  
Finally it again subsided, leaving him sat gasping, his pounding head in his hands, fingers pressed into his hair, chest rattling and wheezing with each attempt at breath.  
Before he knew it he felt a warm hand on his shoulder. His body jerked, startled by the sudden sensation of another persons touch, and he looked round sharply.  
"Shush...", the lady was now knelt next to him, her hand gently resting on his shoulder.  
"Monsieur, you're sick", she said, "you must let me help you in some way".  
Breathlessly the man pushed his hair back out of his face, one more long and deep cough following.  
"Leave me be girl, I do not seek pity".  
"Nonsense!", the lady stood and turned to retrieve her basket before returning to his side, standing over him.  
She placed she basket down.  
"Lean forward", she instructed. Her meek, apprehensive tone had vanished, replaced by one of urgency and concern.  
"I told you, I do not want..."  
"I said lean forward", the lady cut him off mid sentence.  
After a long pause, and with caution, the rag clad man complied, leaning slowly forward where he sat, but watching like a wounded predator every move the lady made.  
She reached into her basket and pulled out one of the items.  
"I said I had items to distribute", she continued, "and this one is for you. To keep. It's yours".  
Moving nearer she unfolded the item. It was a blanket. A thick woollen blanket, white in colour and long enough to warm a whole person.  
"Here...", the lady said and leant slightly over the man. With both hands she placed the blanket over his back, being all the time careful to avoid interfering with his collar, then wrapped it gently around his shoulders before finally bringing the rest of the blanket around him to cover his chest.  
"My goodness you're cold!", she remarked, her hand having briefly brushed his shoulder through his torn rags.  
To the lady's surprise, the mans shackled hands reached up and silently took hold of the ends of the blanket, drawing it closed around himself as best he could.  
He looked down, an expression on his face the lady found hard to read.  
"There...", she calmly said, "...that wasn't so bad."  
The silence persisted for some moments as the lady watched the man. He drew the blanket tighter around himself. A sigh, that which sounded like a sigh of much needed relief, finally escaped his lips.  
"Madame...", his voice finally broke the silence, the blanket obscuring his mouth, "...I have been rude. My words toward you have been unacceptable".  
The lady again lowered herself down next to the mans side. Facing him she gave a small reassuring smile.  
"Monsieur, I take no offence", she assured him, "I hope the blanket will at least provide you a little warmth."  
One more harsh cough followed and the man nodded.  
"Madame, I thank you", he said, turning his head to face the lady as she looked upon him, "again I offer my humble apologies. It would seem my manners have become as rusty as my chains".  
The lady shook her head. "No apology is needed, but I am concerned about that cough. It sounds dreadful, and I can hear the wheeze in every breath".  
The man took in a deep breath and blew out a sigh from his lips, his chest grumbling at the action.  
"Good Madame, there is little that can be done", he admitted in a 'matter of factly' tone, resigned to simply stating the fact from the shadows in which he sat.  
"Little?", the lady questioned.  
"Look around you", the man gestured with a finger through his blanket, indicating the dingy room that held him, "this cell is cold, it is damp, moisture trickles down the walls, dampens my clothing, I sit on cold stone, rotting straw and these chains allow little movement. It is a wonder sickness has spared me this long".  
The lady's expression changed, a wave of sorrow washed over her soul, her heart aching at the pitiful scene before her.  
"This is appalling", she said with genuine sadness.  
She raised herself to her feet, the man watching her every move.  
As if in thought the lady paced to the other side of the cell and back, her hand on her chin, thinking.  
She watched the man as he, in turn, watched her. She knew he had tried to hide it, but she saw him shiver under the blanket. It was warming his body but this figure of pity was still being chilled by the freezing cold floor.  
"Why must you sit on the ground?", the lady questioned, "Why can you not have a chair, or a stool? Something at least to sit on?".  
The mans lips turned up very slightly in a smirk upon hearing these words spoken.  
"You do not realise the irony of your words", he muttered with a shake of his head.  
"I do not?", the lady asked, unsure why her words were being seen as such.  
"Forgive me Madame", the man explained, "it is just that I made the very same suggestion regarding the treatment of prisoners, in writing, a great many months ago... Just before... Just... Before... The river... The river... Before it all... So cold... The river...".  
He broke off before he could speak of it any further, his words the trigger for the sudden gloom falling over his features, his mind falling suddenly to a darker depth.  
His eyes grew wide, yet became focused on nothing, biting his lip and shaking his head as an unwanted blackened memory forced itself upon his minds eye - his real eyes blinded to all but the vivid images that bustled and pushed into his mind at an accelerated rate.  
He shuffled where he sat, dread surging through his veins, his body desperately trying to shuffle back, as if desperate to step back from an edge only he could see.  
The lady grew fearful, uncertain at first as to what was happening.  
The mans hands emerged from under the blanket and balled into fists.  
With his knuckles he thumped his forehead repeatedly.  
"I don't want to see... I don't want to see", he begged, "water... so cold... terribly cold... churning... Over and over... Which way is up?... Water... Cannot breathe in... Cannot breathe out... Water... Suffocating... My lungs... My lungs... Engulfed... Flooded... Cannot cry out... No voice... Silence... Silenced by water... No breath... Dying... Drowning... Death...".  
Scared, the lady rushed to kneel at the mans side. Leaning over him she placed her hands firmly on his shoulders and attempted to shake him hard, to rouse him from that which gripped his mind and soul.  
Realising that this was having no affect, the lady held a hand flat and patted him on the cheek repeatedly, then harder.  
"Listen to me!", she pleaded, "there is nothing here! Nothing here will harm you!".  
His eyes screwed tightly shut, trying as he might to stem the tide of vivid memory that flashed back through his mind.  
The lady shuffled back, relinquishing her attempts at rousing the man and decided instead to allow him a respectful distance.  
He was clearly fighting it, his body rocking back against the wall, his ankle chains clinking with the twitching of his legs as he fought.  
Finally he began to ease.  
His desperate movements, sporadic, frustrated and accompanied with a look of fear more commonly seen on a distressed wild animal began to subside.  
After several moments his body fell back against the wall. His shoulders sagged, his head drooped and his breathing slowed, rasping again with each tired breath.  
The lady knelt, her eyes wide at having witnessed the torment the man suffered. In her whole life she had never witnessed anything of the sort and yet she had felt a desperate need to help this man as he suffered before her eyes.  
She moved forward again, slowly, gently.  
"Shhh...", she whispered.  
Reaching out she pulled the blanket back around the man, it having fallen from his shoulders during his episode.  
"Shhh... It's okay...", she placed a hand on his shoulder, gently soothing him through the fabric of the blanket, "You're alright Monsieur ...you're alright".  
Looking around for something useful, anything, she sighted his cup of drinking water.  
Leaning over she picked it up and guided it to his hands that lay limply in his lap.  
With a weak nod he took it, his fingers grasping the cup and the lady gently helping his still trembling hands guide it to his lips.  
He gasped as he drank, the act of drinking seeming to clear the fog from his mind and improve his focus.  
When he was finished, the lady took the cup from him, placing it down within his reach next to where he sat.  
"This is what ails you?", she finally broke the silence, her question this time not asked for the purpose of naive prying, but this time from genuine concern for this man whom she had known less than an hour.  
With a tired movement the man nodded.  
"This is why they chain me... They say this way I cannot... do harm to myself... deliberate or otherwise,", the admittance carried a slight hesitation in his voice as if unsure of wether pride would allow him to speak of such matters.  
He looked her in the face, gauging her reaction and ready to spit a word of venom should his weakness be exploited or mocked.  
The lady said nothing. She looked down, blinked a couple of times and finally wiped her eye, removing the presence of the newly forming tear.  
Her heart was heavy, filled with immense pity, distress and an overwhelming urge to do something to help this man.  
"And would you?", she decided to bravely take the step and ask, "harm yourself I mean?".  
Placing a hand over his mouth the man again coughed, a long and dirty rasp accompanying it.  
"I do not know...", the man reluctantly answered.  
"And these.... episodes... you suffer", the lady sympathetically probed, "Monsieur Loiselet told me they happen often?".  
"Did he now?", the man was clearly disgruntled at the revelation that his situation was a subject for discussion.  
"I'm sorry", the lady said, "he only providedme a brief history of each person before I entered the cells."  
Satisfied that his situation was not the subject of idle chatter, the man nodded in confirmation.  
"In fact", the lady remembered, "I never finished what I came to do. I must apologise".  
She turned once more to her basket and took out the final two items from within it.  
The man watched with curiosity, still unsure of what he should make of this new acquaintance.  
For eighteen months he had sat, knelt and occasionally stood here locked up in his prison of chain and filth. In all this time he only ever saw the boy who was tasked with the brief job of delivering his daily ration of drinking water and poor quality bread, and who's duty it was to remove and empty his infernal bucket.  
The once proud man gritted his teeth in distaste at the sheer disgrace.  
"Here...", the lady's soft young voice broke him from his thoughts.  
Before his eyes the lady held out her remaining offerings.  
"It's not much I know", she said apologetically, "but I hope these will be satisfactory".  
Gently the lady passed her simple offerings, an apple and an orange, both fresh, to the man.  
"Madame, why do you do this?", he asked as he took the offered fruit. He was unaccustomed to both the giving and receiving of generosity and thus felt compelled to search for a motive.  
The lady paused before answering, the question arousing a raw sense of grief and loss within the young lady.  
"My father, a kind and gentle man, taut me that we must do all we can to help those around us who are in need", the lady spoke softly as she again bent down next to the man, "he sacrificed greatly to provide the life I now have so I must continue his deeds and, like him, not turn a blind eye to those I can help".  
The man nodded, taking in the information and listening as he placed the orange down on the floor next to him and examined the apple in his hand. It had been many months since had even seen an apple and he was loathe to think of himself as 'in need', yet the hunger within him urged him to devour both apple and orange right then.  
He would save the orange so that, just for once, he would have something to eat later.  
"If he saw a hungry child he would give them a coin", the lady continued to fondly explain, "there was not a single soul Papa would not help".  
"He sounds...", the man searched for an appropriate word, "...honourable".  
He had never understood the willingness of the gutter classes to rely on the charity of others, instead believing that a taint of crime, theft, and robbery stained their souls - giving to these people merely encouraged them to sit back and be idle whilst allowing others to provide for them.  
Despite his thoughts, and his belief on this matter being held life long, the man thought better of challenging the lady's views. It would not be appropriate.  
His observant mind had, despite its fragility, studied his visitor closely.  
Weighing up an individual's integrity, or lack of, was an ability he had come to rely on day in day out in his old life, sometimes having to decide in just seconds.  
In his mind he had judged the lady to be genuine. He was satisfied with her sincerity, sensing no ulterior motive for her actions. Although her intent was kind and her sentiment commendable, he could see clearly that this young lady was childishly naive and held little experience of the true grit of the real world.  
Putting his thoughts aside the man raised the apple to his mouth and took a bite.  
After the months of surviving on mostly bread and the very occasional piece of poor meat, the taste of an apple was refreshing.  
It did not take long for the apple, barely enough to satisfy his hunger, to be eaten.  
Dropping his chained wrists back into his lap the man sat back against the stone wall, his aching back provoking a wince which he rapidly suppressed - he had displayed more than enough weakness already to this visitor.  
The lady watched the man as he moved and noted the fatigue that was becoming apparent on his face. Having seen for herself the mans failing health and the poor conditions in which he was held, then having witnessed him suffer an attack of the so called 'madness' that afflicted him the lady felt certain that the man was now tiring.  
With a gentle movement the lady stood back up to her full height and picked up her basket, all of it's goods having now been handed out.  
"You are tired Monsieur and I have taken up enough of your time", the lady politely began.  
She once more adjusted the blanket around his shoulders, wishing to leave him able to stay as warm as the material would allow given the circumstances.  
"Madame", the man gruffly spoke as he looked up, the cough punctuating his sentence, "I am not accustomed to kind words and generosity... but... my gratitude is yours".  
The lady smiled and nodded softly, accepting the thanks of the once proud man chained before her.  
"I hope these few things provide at least a little comfort", the lady said with sincerity evident, "and I will speak with Monsieur Loiselet with regard to your cough and wheezing chest for I fear that if I do not you may well catch pneumonia".  
With reluctance the man nodded. His feelings regarding his incarceration were constantly muddled, some days believing he had been greatly wronged, that the hunter should not be the one caged. Other days he felt he rightly deserved no less as a penance and punishment for his attempt at the sinful act of suicide. His most profound and worrying realisation was knowing that he was now unable to take any action his master, the law, compelled of him. No matter how many times he wrestled with his moral and legal beliefs, no matter how many times his mind broke down with an overwhelming tide of thoughts during the long dark nights he knew one thing for certain - the redeemed saint of a convict was safely out of his reach.  
Right now he knew that whatever his feelings on his conditions were there would be no stopping the lady from attempting to intervene on his behalf.  
Inwardly he already knew it would be useless as he had no wealth to pay for medicines.  
"You have been most kind", the man said looking up at the lady.  
"It is the very least I can do", the lady smiled politely and began to move to the door with her basket in hand.  
Suddenly she stopped and turned back as if startled.  
"Oh how silly of me Monsieur!", she said with a look of surprise, "but I never introduced myself, nor did I even think to ask your name!".  
The lady looked embarrassed once again, like a child who had made a silly mistake.  
"My name...", the man almost had to suppress a single melancholy chuckle, "...there was a time when the merest mention of my name was enough to strike fear into the hearts of those who prey on society".  
For a moment as he recalled times past he briefly regained a long lost feeling of pride and a little of his old proud posture, his head held high, his aching back straight, began to show.  
Slowly the memory passed, fading back into the recesses of his mind, like the ghost of a time now dead. His shoulders slowly sank back to their somber bearing, reality outweighing memory.  
The lady looked pained upon seeing the pride the memory clearly brought forth in the man, and the darkness as it vanished in a moment.  
"You mean when you were a policeman?", the lady acknowledged.  
"Yes", the man nodded as he looked up at her, "but it is all gone now".  
The lady cast her eyes down. She hadn't known this man long but having spent this short time in his company she felt tremendous empathy for him.  
"I really must return home now or my husband will worry greatly", the lady reluctantly said as she realised the afternoon was waning, "I will make sure to see if there is anything further I can do for you Monsieur...".  
The tired man sat back in his chains, resigned once again to his fate, watching as she slowly began to move away from him towards to the door that shut him off from the world.  
"And my name Monsieur is Madame Pontmercy", she smiled, "...or simply Cosette".  
That moment of hearing her name, that name, "Cosette", was akin to a thousand thunderclaps unexpectedly sounding in his head.  
It was as if a great jolt had struck his body, woken all his senses from a long slumber and surged a wave of fire through his entire being.  
His eyes widened with a start, the pupils focusing sharply on the lady as she stood before him, much as a wolf might lock it's eyes onto cornered prey before commencing the kill.  
"Cosette?", he repeated with a distinctive growl not heard in his voice for almost two years.  
The features of the lady, Cosette, changed rapidly from that of gentle pity to sheer confusion and then slowly to an anxious alarm as she watched the mans appearance transform from that of a wretched prisoner to the wolfish man suddenly scenting blood. If there had been a full moon, she would have thought the man a Werewolf.  
"Cosette?", the mans voice was one of barely disguised disbelief.  
"Yes...", the lady answered with much hesitation upon having seen the mans demeanour alter as it had, "yes that is my name".  
The man shrugged the blanket off and shuffled haphazardly to his scuffed knees, his chains rattling as he moved, then reaching for the stone wall against which he had been sat, with his shackled wrists moving in unison he heaved himself to his unsteady feet, trembling with adrenalin.  
Cosette slowly backed away, worried that the man was suffering another attack of his condition and all the time hoping that it may subside like the last one.  
This had a different feel now he was on his feet, something was extremely wrong and deep down she knew it.  
He was tall, very tall and his figure even now was in his tattered state both imposing and intimidating.  
"I should have smelled a rat the moment you walked in!", the man said as he looked her up and down accusingly in disgust.  
The lady was beginning to worry, concerned that she had inadvertently caused offence in some way that had gone unnoticed to her.  
"Did he send you!? Did he!?", the man raised his voice to a far more commanding tone as if interrogating a suspect, "Are you to report back now? To tell him all that you have witnessed? Will this satisfy him now he can say he has won?!". The man gestured his shackled wrists at Cosette as if forcefully making his point.  
Utterly mystified by this unprovoked outburst Cosette rapidly shook her head.  
"Monsieur I do not know what you are talking about, report to who?".  
"Do not play games with me child! Tell me where he is!", the man ordered, "Now!"  
The mans expression was terrible. Never in her life had Cosette seen anyone so angry and it frightened her to the core.  
"I truly do not know what you mean Monsieur!", she pleaded, hoping in vain for him to regain his senses, slump back down against the wall and become calm again, "tell you where who is?".  
"Cease playing the innocent child!", the monstrous ferocity of the mans voice was ever increasing, "and do not protect him!".  
Forgetting his bonds the man instinctively attempted to take a step forward towards Cosette, to corner her and extract the truth from this wisp of a girl.  
The ankle chain chinked hard as it immediately became taut, stopping him in his tracks before he could move his foot any more than a couple of inches to take the desired step. The man made a roar of frustration as the chains that restrained him once again did thier job.  
"Run home little girl!", he snarled and struggled with his wrist shackles, frustration and rage surging through him, forcing him to again fight to free himself in urgency.  
Once again blood began to seep from the lacerations on his wrists as they were once again disturbed by his enraged struggle.  
"Run home and tell him not to cower behind a girl! Tell him the tables have turned, that he has what he wants! Tell Valjean...", he pulled tremendously hard against the wrist shackles, violently shaking them repeatedly before finally smashing the shackle of his right wrist hard against the the wall with all his strength, "...Tell Valjean that THIS is his victory! THIS is the the life his sanctimonious act of mercy has given me!". He spat the word 'mercy' as if it were contaminated.  
Cosette stood in shock, her mouth dropping slightly open upon hearing the name Valjean. She attempted to compose her shaking self but failed and within moments her eyes began to fill with the water of tears and her bottom lip began to quiver.  
"Bring him here!", the man ordered, "I want him to see that while to some he is a blessing, to others he is a curse! I want him to look me in the eye and regret ever sparing me!".  
Cosette's entire being filled with dread as she listened to the mans uncontrollable raging.  
A sequence of facts were slowly dawning in her mind like pieces of a long scattered jigsaw puzzle slowly coming dreadfully together to form a horrific picture.  
Monsieur Loiselet's description of this man having been a Policeman, that he had been present at the barricades on the night of the uprising, that he knew the name Valjean and finally the mention of this mans life being spared.  
She looked harder in the poor light. Now the man was on his feet she recalled descriptions from her fathers writings. This tall man, his long hair easy to imagine tidy and tied neatly back, his terrifyingly animalistic stare, the fire in his voice...  
A freezing cold chill of terror washed over Cosette as if the temperature in the cell had suddenly plummeted, her face turned pale with shock as she came to her terrifying realisation.  
"Javert...", she breathed in absolute horror.  
"Inspector Javert to the likes of you! Now bring me Valjean...", he struggled for breath momentarily as his sickened chest was overwhelmed by his rage, "...tell him he has won! Tell him it is Javert who now sits behind bars! Or does he not have the courage to look upon a man he has destroyed? Tell Jean Valjean he is a coward!".  
Cosette's body trembled as she suddenly sobbed loudly, breaking down and unable to listen to anymore heartless vitriol from Javert.  
"Jean Valjean is dead!!!", she cried, a cry so raw it may well have come from the core of her very soul and every fibre of her being.  
Javert stopped as if suddenly struck by a bolt of lightning, disarmed by the words that had just hit him. His wrists were mid pull against his shackles and his gaze set firmly on Cosette.  
The cell was overcome by a silence that was absolute until the girl slowly began to sob again, her eyes awash with the tears which trickled down her face.  
She took a very small step forwards toward Javert, his expression one of suspicious uncertainty.  
"Jean Valjean is dead...", Cosette repeated in a tiny fragile voice, "...My Papa is dead... and you Javert can go to Hell".  
Distraught and shaking with utter grief Cosette turned and strode towards the unlocked cell door.  
She heaved the door open and left, without so much as a glance back at him.  
The door clanged shut and within moments the sound could be heard of a guard bolting the locks.  
Javert stood unmoving, the words of Cosette having struck him a blow which had entirely stunned him.  
His rage evaporated, washed away by the sheer weight of the Earth shattering words and the news they conveyed.  
He believed entirely that the girl was not lying, she had been far too distraught to have invented this.  
"Valjean?...", Javert muttered in shocked disbelief as if refusing to accept such a possibilty, "...dead?".  
He felt his legs weaken beneath him, his sickness having left him too weak to absorb such a dramatic turn of events. He felt shocked to the very pit of his stomach and within a moment Javert fell hard to his knees, unable to stand any longer, his collar choking him hard as it's chain prevented him collapsing forward, but he did not care.  
His heart pounded and thumped in his chest and he fell back hard against the wall.  
This was something Javert had never expected to hear, nor could he comprehend what he was feeling at this loss. It occurred to Javert as he sat on the cold floor, chest heaving hard with every breath, that there was only one person who had been a constant figure throughout most of his life and that person was Jean Valjean.  
"Jean Valjean...is dead...", utter despair permeated his lowered voice as a feeling of something akin to grief began to creep into his soul.  
Weakly he raised his eyes, glancing slowly around his desolate cell and realised that he now felt more alone than ever.  
He let his head drop down and sunk into his black thoughts.  
"Valjean is dead... And so is Javert".

 

It was half an hour later when the door unexpectedly unbolted, giving it's usual metallic creak as it was forced open.  
Monsieur Loiselet strode in, a purposeful gait to his stride, and stopped a pace infront of his prisoner.  
The former Policeman was still sat in the darkness against the cold wall, tiredness etched onto his face and his expression that of someone who's thoughts were far away. Sporadically he shook his head, as if a chain of thoughts were running over and over through his mind and refusing to be accepted. Again he shook his head, all the while mumbling "No...No...No..." to himself in denial of a fact. His eyes were moist and the line left by one single escaped tear marked itself down his cheek.  
It was apparent that he were in a state that rendered him oblivious to the presence of Monsieur Loiselet.  
Loiselet shook his own head and let out a huff of breath, this was one part of the job he greatly disliked but it was, he always believed, best to get it over with. Once it was done, it was done.  
In his hand he held a sturdy baton, not unalike the truncheon his prisoner sat before him would have once carried in the Police.  
"Javert!", he barked in an almost military tone, flexing his fingers grip on the baton.  
Mentally and emotionally drained, Javert slowly looked up, his gaze numb and groggy.  
Loiselet braced himself and raised his baton.  
"You do not make a lady cry!!", he brought it down hard.

 

End chapter 3


	4. You've Done Your Duty, Nothing More...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can the adopted daughter of Valjean find it within her to forgive her late father's nemesis, and can Javert learn to trust the the only person in the world who can possibly help him?
> 
> Sometimes help comes from the most unlikeliest source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I remind people that this story blends aspects of both the book and stage versions of Les Miserables.
> 
> I have opted to go with Valjean's death as depicted in the book where it was a lot more drawn out and gradual rather than simply dying on the wedding night.
> 
> Also, again I visualise this Javert in my mind as being Philip Quast.   
> As for Cosette, I have been to the London show so many times this year that I currently cannot imagine her as anyone other than the current London Cosette Samantha Dorsey.
> 
> Again please do comment if you enjoy, I really do like to know if I am doing this okay. If I make any spelling or grammar errors please bare in mind that this is a hobby that I enjoy as an escape from real life. I am not a trained writer, it is just a bit of fun and enjoyment (although Javert may disagree).
> 
> Please enjoy!

Broken Man  
Chapter 4 - "You've done your duty, nothing more".

"He was stoical, earnest and austere, given to gloomy pondering" - Victor Hugo's Les Miserables book describes Javert.

"Unwise" and "foolhardy", "idiotic" and "irrational". All of these words and a vast many more had passed through her mind this long night as she repeatedly questioned herself, searching for a way to justify and re-justify the journey she was to embark upon in the morning.  
Every time she had attempted to talk herself out of this action, to find an escape route, she felt her conscience gnaw at her, biting at her, urging her to go forward and put away the growing anxiety this very notion stirred within her.  
She was, come morning, about to embark upon the completely inconceivable. The longer she lay here unsleeping, the more anxious her decision made her feel.  
For three days, since fleeing from the asylum in tears Cosette had thought of absolutely nothing but her eventful encounter with Javert.  
The very thought that she had felt sorrow for this man, that she had shown him tenderness, care and given him comfort in his distress had made her feel physically sick. He truly was an animal, chained like the viscous beast he was and deserving of his dire fate as fair retribution for all the years during which he had tormented her poor beloved Papa.  
Her tears had eventually subsided after confiding the days events to her concerned husband.  
Marius had been just as shocked as Cosette upon hearing of Javerts reappearance, comforting his tearful wife as she relayed the tirade the Inspector had let loose upon her.  
That first night Cosette had retired early to bed, weary from the toll the day had taken on her. In search of solace she had taken one of the diaries left to her by her father, by Valjean, and set about taking comfort from reading his words. His written words were always a source of comfort to Cosette and since her Papa's passing she had progressively made her way through the diaries and writings he had left - "The story of those who always loved you" he had referred to it as. No matter what his entries discussed Cosette always felt the love and the warmth that emanated from the words, as though they were a light touching her soul or a warm hand grasping a gentle hold of her own smaller hand.  
She had opened the diary at June 1832 and read, her eyes skipping some of the more distasteful and graphic descriptions of the violence at the barricade.  
It was then that she had read it. A passage describing events that had taken place after that final battle.  
She had always known a little of the events that transpired that night but had never thought to enquire of details or asked to hear in person the tale of that night.  
She had simply always accepted a simple fact, that her Papa had selflessly carried Marius to safety - an act which had resulted in changing her own life forever.  
She had read it again and then again, initially refusing to accept this startling revelation, a fact that Marius himself would never have known as he had not been conscious at the time of it's occurrence.  
Someone else had been there that night, intercepting her Papa as he strained to carry Marius, someone who would have been fully expected to stop her Papa in his tracks with the full force of the law. Cosette had stared at the page in disbelief upon reading that this someone had been Javert and that the Inspector had given ground, yielded to Valjean and allowed him to pass unhindered. It was absolutely unthinkable, on a par with discovering that left was right and up was down.  
Had he acted, arresting her Papa and thus preventing Marius from receiving the urgent care of a doctor, Cosette would have lost both her father and her true love overnight - Marius to a grim death and her Papa back to prison.  
All through this night, these three days after having fled from Javert, she lay warm in Marius' sleeping arms, continuously plagued with thoughts of this revelation and what it now meant.  
During the previous days and nights the thoughts had constantly haunted her, forcing her conscience to justify to herself just how she could lie in a warm bed in a house of finery, while the man who had - however inadvertently - enabled her life to become so fulfilled was left to rot in a cell, whimpering from the broken thoughts that tormented him, and who was almost certain to die alone in his chains upon the failure of his declining health.  
Cosette had been raised to help the weak, to show mercy to those in need. The most important lesson her Papa had taught her was forgiveness and how that one simple act can change a mans life forever.  
However much it scared her, Cosette's mind was made up.  
She knew the story of how long ago a kindly Bishop had shown her Papa forgiveness. Forgiveness was, her Papa had said, a challenge. To forgive one who had wronged you, who had angered you, was far harder and yet more rewarding than harbouring hatred.  
It was her turn to honour both that Bishop and her Papa.  
Come the morning Cosette would return to the asylum, an idea spawned by a newfound feeling of obligation was forming in her mind.  
What happened next would depend on how Javert received her and it would affect them both forever.

 

The sound of rain lashing down outside infiltrated the cell through the tiny barred window high up the wall. Near total darkness had enveloped the cell through the long sleep deprived night and together with the rain, the cold, and the damp had created a black tomb-like ambiance until the grey day had slowly broken.  
Intermittently the sound of rain was joined by that of a jerking chain, rustling suddenly and then falling silent once more.  
Against the wall, buried in the shadow sat Javert, the light of the grey morning unable to reach him.  
His legs were stretched out before him and his back was leant against the wall.  
His arms were raised against his chest with his fingers tucked underneath his iron collar. Long ago he had worked out that slipping his fingers underneath his collar enabled him to sleep without the collar strangling him on the occasions when sleep caused him to slump to one side or fall forwards.  
Initially he had found it almost impossible to sleep in this upright fashion and had fought both the collar and chain with ever increasing frustration.  
Months later he had reluctantly grown used to it despite the never ceasing ache his back now suffered as a result of having remained inactive in this situation for so long.  
Again a chain rattled, it's wearers body twitching in a sleep that was fitful.  
In the three days since learning of the death of Valjean Javert had scarcely slept.  
Every emotion had coursed through him like the aftershocks of an earthquake.  
As Javert had initially sat in utter numbness attempting to comprehend the news Monsieur Loiselet had entered and delivered his beating as punishment for upsetting the girl, Madame Pontmercy... Cosette.  
For some time after Javert had sat there limp, his body aching, his side to the wall, head drooping and almost hanging by his neck chain.  
The temptation was there... Just let his weight fall, let the chain choke the life out of him and let this world be damned.  
Despite his black thoughts he found himself too preoccupied to even try.  
Perhaps he was a coward who feared a second attempt at suicide, he did not know.  
It was then during that evening just hours after having learned the news that the next attack of his 'madness' came upon him. Partially hanging by the neck he sat slumped low against the wall. Feeling the dried blood from the blow to his head caking the side of his face he felt the familiar sensation of his mind beginning to reel. The dark of night seemed to encourage his 'madness' to emerge from the depths of his mind as if it were a lure, calling for it to creep in under the shadow of blackness.  
It was a single thought that triggered it, followed by a cascade of thoughts, an avalanche, both unstoppable and unrepentant: the realisation that the death of Valjean marked the end of a chapter of his life.  
Valjean had been a constant, the only constant, for a great many years. Now he was dead there was no one at all, nothing to take his place.  
The hunt for Valjean, this game the two of them had played like chess, this game of cat and mouse, was now over, cut short by mortality.  
Yet to Javert the game had been all consuming and it had become personal - very personal. At some point it had stopped being 'the policeman' hunting 'the convict' and had instead become Javert hunting Valjean.  
He was not sure exactly when this transition had occurred, he knew only that this was how their game had evolved, and this was how it was played.  
The possibility of Valjean reappearing was always highly likely and, true to form, he always did reappear. Javert had reluctantly acknowledged to himself that there had always been something of a thrill to the chase.  
To catch sight of ones quarry, to persue, to prepare to pounce, to drag ones prey to the ground after so many years and make the victorious capture was a moment he had long fantasised about. There would have been no personal gain from Valjean's capture, just a feeling of intense satisfaction and the knowledge that order had triumphed.  
And now the game was over.  
The quarry was gone.  
The wolf requires prey to hunt, to live, to thrive, but without prey the wolf becomes little more than a domestic dog wagging it's tail upon seeing its master.  
Perhaps this wolf was now mourning his master?  
Javert had shaken himself from his thoughts at the very notion, refusing to accept that Valjean could have ever been that important to him, that he could harbour even a grain of respect for the guile of his opponent and, most horrifically of all, that Valjean had seemed so incredibly human and humane in their final encounters.  
This humanity had marked Valjean as the better man, the thieving convict better than the righteous policeman.  
Now there was no possibility of another encounter between these two old foes. No more battles, no more chases, no more scenting carefully covered tracks.  
Even locked away Javert had clung to the possibility of another encounter with Valjean. His mind had been plagued with nothing but thoughts of Valjean ever since he had been imprisoned in the asylum, each day weighing up wether it was right that he be locked away so the "man of mercy" could continue to do good without fear of arrest, or wether it was wrong and he should fight to free himself so he could continue the chase and show absolutely no mercy to the prey.  
And now there was nothing.  
The question had been taken away.  
His life was empty.  
A void had opened up and he was hit by the realisation that there was nothing more in his life. There would be no more plans, no more policing, no more reports, no more patrols, not even the luxury of being able to look up in reverence at the stars.  
The rate of his heart was increasing as these thoughts whirled, each darker than the other, and each fuelling his rising feelings of anxiety.  
He was held here against his will, he had no family, no friend, no one was going to come in search of him.  
A feeling of indescribable dread arose within his soul, a cold sweat formed all over him, his heart pounding even faster in a sudden blind panic as he became starkly aware of what his future now held for him...  
He was finished.  
There was no way out.  
He would sit here in these chains locked away for the rest of his life.  
Be it sooner or later, he was going to die here.  
His panic was such that he felt the very walls themselves were closing in. His chest was banging with the pace of his heartbeat, his body trembled, hands shaking, and his breath coming in sharp rapid gasps, his ill health and infected chest conspiring against his ability to take in oxygen.  
His vision blurred, darkening around the edges, his focus failing and his ears ringing.  
After several more frenzied gasps for air Javert slumped, his body collapsing back against the wall and appearing almost lifeless as he fell unconscious.  
In the days that followed this attack Javert barely moved.  
He ate almost nothing and drank very little.  
Even his daily battles with his chains did not occur.  
Instead he sat exactly as he had collapsed, barely having moved a single muscle since, and his mind scarcely able to conjure any thought other than a feeling of all consuming blackness.  
Finally in these morning hours after this third night Javert finally slept, succumbing finally to exhaustion and falling into a fitful yet restless sleep.

 

The footsteps, taking light and apprehensive steps were that of a frightened young lady.  
The journey to the asylum had felt as though it had been a journey to the very ends of the earth, the temptation to turn back, to call out to the coachman and order him to stop and return her to the safety of her home had become almost overwhelming. Yet she had persevered, determined to summon her courage and walk the path she had decided upon.  
Upon arrival Monsieur Loiselet had expressed great surprise, explaining that he had never expected to see her again after she had departed so abruptly and in such a state the last time.  
Cosette had offered little in the way of an explanation as to her motivation for returning, opting instead to state that she had unfinished business with 'The Policeman'.  
As with the previous visit Monsieur Loiselet led Cosette, her basket again in hand, down the dark passageway that led to the cell in question, unbolting the locks upon arriving and pushing the door open.  
"I don't know what was said during your last visit", Monsieur Loiselet looked to Cosette and then gestured into the cell, "but he has sat as unmoving as a corpse since you left".  
Cosette's heart jumped a whole beat upon hearing these words, having half expected to see Javert continuing to rage like a caged lion.  
Once again she took a tentative few steps into the cell, looking back anxiously at Monsieur Loiselet for the briefest of moments as if making a last minute consideration as to wether to back out.  
She persevered.  
"Again, the door will not be locked, leave any time you like", Monsieur Loiselet quietly stated before he left with a polite nod, shutting the cell door behind her.  
Once again Cosette's eyes took several moments to adjust to the darkness, the vast majority of the days light being denied entry by the single barred window.  
Once adjusted to the dim light Cosette sighted him, apprehension leaping within her as she recognised the ragged form of Javert slumped against the wall, the neck chain hanging slack from the wall above him as if tethering a lifeless dog.  
She strained her eyes to see, taking several very slow cautious steps forward as if she were walking on thin ice that might shatter at any moment.  
He really was just as Monsieur Loiselet had described, crumpled against the wall, collapsed as if the fire she last saw raging within him had been extinguished.  
Cosette stepped closer still until she was standing before him, noting that next to him sat his ration of water, undrunk and his ration of bread untouched.  
His head was bowed, drooping forward with his long hair hanging loose obscuring his face and his fingers tucked again under his collar to aid breathing - He was sleeping.  
Cosette quietly bent down next to him becoming increasingly aware of the fact that she was trembling in barely contained terror at returning to this man.  
With immense hesitation she slowly reached out a hand and with the lightest possible of touches slowly drew his loose hair back to reveal his sleeping face, half expecting him to wake with a start and lash out wildly.  
Cosette gasped audibly as she saw Javert's face. The right side of his face was blackened with bruising, his eye was swollen shut and a cut sat just above his eyebrow caked in dried flaking blood.  
Placing her basket down she gently let his hair fall back, unsure of what she should do. She had not expected to see this.  
Her answer came when the man before her stirred. A chained hand twitched and he took in a rough breath which was immediately followed by a thick cough.  
He was waking slowly.  
"Monsieur...?", Cosette spoke softly before she had even realised that it was her own voice, "...Inspector?".  
Cosette's heart thumped and she took a nervous step back as Javert lethargically began to look up. She knew he was becoming aware of the presence of a second person - the moment she had dreaded suddenly arriving.  
Slowly he removed his numb fingers from under his collar, pushing his hair from his face to aid his view, his chained hands dropping weakly to his lap immediately after.  
His swollen eye refused to open, the black bruising too harsh to grant it sight. His good eye blinked slowly several times, the girl before him finally transforming from a blur and coming into focus.  
Both stared at the other, Cosette in abject terror and Javert in a combination of both tired confusion and exhausted disbelief at what he saw before him.  
"Inspector, I..."  
"Madame, why..."  
Both began at once.  
Silence again...  
"Monsieur... Inspector...", Cosette began with apprehension clear in her voice, "...the way things were left the other day... I felt I should come back... It's been bothering me... I didn't want to leave things as they were...".  
Javert observed her as best he could with his limited sight, recognising the terror clearly displayed on her face before sighing and glancing down, another deep cough rattling his chest.  
Once more he looked up at her, his face a picture of exhaustion, defeat, sickness.  
"If I may reassure you Madame...", his downcast voice began in a tone lacking any strength, "...this time I do not intend to bite".  
Cosette's features softened slightly, her apprehension easing a little upon hearing that the flare-up of outrage she had expected from Javert might after all not occur.  
Another bout of silence followed, as chilled as the cold cell itself.  
After a some hesitation Cosette stepped forward once again, bending down cautiously next to Javert, relieved and yet still feeling anything but safe in the presence of this volatile man.  
"Monsieur... I mean, Inspector...", she gestured meekly to his face, "...What happened? Your face...Did they do this to you?".  
Javert nodded where he sat, his sapped strength making the nod slow as both his neck and back ached tremendously with every movement. Weakly he leant his head back against the stone and exhaled.  
"I was punished for distressing you so greatly", he admitted, his good eye staring straight ahead as he stated the fact dispassionately.  
Cosette looked horrified. The thought of an act of violence being carried out in her name and without her knowledge or consent was abhorrent to her.  
"Monsieur... Inspector, I can assure you...", she fretted with a jitter to her voice, "...that I made no such request of Monsieur Loiselet, I would never ask such a thing!".  
"You would not understand Madame...", Javert shook his head and spoke slowly, "...it is his job to maintain order. I have disciplined enough prisoners in my time to know. This is merely the way of things".  
Again his back pulsed with his movement, the many months of being restricted by the short neck chain to remaining sat against this wall, sitting in this position, sleeping in this position, had caused an ever increasing agony throughout his entire back and neck.  
Cosette looked downcast as she listened, a pang of guilt within her at the knowledge that her manner of leaving on the previous occasion had led to this beating.  
"I'm so sorry Monsieur...", she said quietly and looked down, saddened at both Javert's punishment and his casual acceptance of it as if he had received a mere slap on the wrist for a misdemeanour, "I had no idea".  
Forcing the pain to the back of his thoughts, Javert looked at this naive girl, his groggy mind beginning to ponder a great many questions at her unexpected reappearance.  
Once again he raised his chained hands. His collar was particularly uncomfortable this morning and he winced in irritation.  
Upon Javert's arrival at the asylum, the iron collar been shut around his neck and secured at the back with a padlock.  
This padlock was itself attached to the end of the hated chain that prevented him from straying far from the cold stone wall.  
When sat leaning against the wall the padlock was of great irritation to Javert, constantly in the way at the back of his neck, jabbing at him, and preventing him from trying to relax the constantly aching muscles of his neck and back.  
He had come to realise that as the collar was not chokingly tight he could turn it slightly, bringing the padlock and chain to one side so as to allow him to appease the ever increasing pain of his back.  
Today, as regularly occurred, the padlock had slipped to the back again.  
His hands trembled as he reached for it, lack of nourishment having made even the smallest of movements a challenge. He fumbled to feel for the padlock, his wrists being shackled together always making the task more complicated than it should be.  
"May I?".  
Javert looked up to see Cosette, her eyes glancing toward the padlock he sought, lean towards him from where she were bent down next to him. Clearly she had understood what he sought to resolve.  
Javert gave a slow yet cautious nod, the very concept of accepting help, particularly in his vulnerable predicament, was still something he found almost too alien to comprehend.  
Cosette leant towards him. Gently she brushed his hair back behind his ear, his good eye watching her the whole time, his body ready to draw back from her.  
With light fingers she touched the collar, lifting it slightly from the base of his neck so as to not scrape his skin with its rough metal and then turned it, gently bringing both the padlock and the rustling chain to rest at his right shoulder.  
Javert sat back, free of the loathsome irritation. He closed his good eye, pursing his lips in sheer ignominy at having needed and accepted the help of a mere girl, not just any girl but that girl, to help him with such a simple task.  
Cosette sat back, saying nothing and simply observing him, sensing the once proud mans irritation at requiring assistance.  
Javert finally looked to her once again, his tired face searching for answers and reasons.  
"Why does the daughter of Valjean do this?", he finally asked after having taken several moments to choose his words, taking care not to unintentionally offend.  
Cosette gave a reluctant smile as she considered the question, all the while looking at Javert, observing the stare of his piercing cold eye and noting how he appeared far weaker today than during her previous visit.  
"If it is honesty you seek Inspector, I have tried at least a hundred times to talk myself out of coming back", she began with earnest sincerity, "My Papa lived every single day looking over his shoulder, watching for you, ready to take hold of me and run, to start another new life and abandon what little we had at a moments notice...".  
Sat weakly against the wall all the while attempting to conceal the acute pain searing his spine, Javert listened, watching the girl as she spoke.  
"I didn't understand why at the time, nor did I so much as know your name until I was older, but I always knew that someone was seeking to harm my Papa. And that was why we always had to hide. Inspector, I will admit this, you frighten me, you frighten me a lot".  
Cosette looked away, dreading that his reaction might be explosive and worrying that her words had been too honest, too cutting given the combination of their most recent encounter and Javert's fragile mental state.  
To her surprise, yet again no outburst followed and she looked back, as if expecting a delayed reaction.  
He was unmoved, sat exactly as he had been, leant against the wall, head leaning back against the stone, chained hands resting in his lap and with no sign of any building rage about to erupt.  
"Do not fear me Madame", he finally spoke, his voice downbeat yet reassuring, "I have never intended harm towards you, be it then or now".  
Cosette's attention focused firmly on Javert, her nerves reluctant to calm themselves upon hearing him speak these words.  
This return visit had so far gone nothing like she had feared. She had not expected, with him knowing her identity, to be able to engage in conversation with Javert.  
"And my Papa?".  
Javert thought, a vast array of memories of the past stirring in his mind at Cosette's inevitable mention of her adopted convict father, "I never sought to harm Valjean... Your father". There was honesty in his face as he spoke.  
"But you would have returned him to prison?", Cosette asked seeking understanding of both Javert's motivations and beliefs, "for the rest of his life?".  
"Yes", Javert's answer was blunt but truthful, "but harm him? No Madame. No prisoner in my custody was ever, ever, mistreated - not even those who's crimes far exceeded those of Valjean".  
Cosette listened intently, never having expected to glean any insight into Javert.  
"But you let him go?", she continued, finally nearing the point she had come here to make and hoping desperately that he would continue to respond, "after the barricade fell?".  
As the question was asked there was a reluctance within Javert to form an answer, the memory being so close to the events which had triggered his undoing and ruination.  
He said nothing for several long moments as he recalled that very event, an event which had occurred within the first hours of his thoughts and mind descending into darkness and shattering into the shards of chaos and confusion he was now left with.  
"I did", he simply answered, "for reasons I struggle every day to comprehend".  
Cosette was silent, undecided as to wether it would be appropriate to thank Javert for releasing her father or wether, being in full knowledge that this event had led directly to his attempt at taking his own life, to leave the words unspoken for now.  
The silence was broken abruptly by Javert's sickly cough, his chains rattling as it continued unabated as he fought to draw breath and contain the onslaught.  
His chest grumbled yet again, his cough finally retreating. His chained hands attempted to rub his chest to calm his gasping breathing as his aching back again surged with pain from the disturbance.  
Cosette placed a hand gently on Javert's sagging shoulder as he looked down in weariness, concern clearly evident on her face, "You need a Doctor, urgently".  
Javert swallowed hard, refusing the indignity of spitting in front of a lady the nauseating muck his illness was dredging up from his chest with every attack of coughing.  
"No...", he dispiritedly shook his head, "...besides, I have no funds to pay for one".  
Cosette said nothing, she had no idea what to say. Instead she simply looked at Javert in an attempt to understand this man and how he both thought and functioned. His entire physical bearing, his tone of voice, everything was different this time. It was, she sorrowfully acknowledged, as if he had simply lost the will to live.  
"You never answered my question...".  
His hoarse voice immediately brought her attention back to him as he looked questioningly to her.  
"I asked why the daughter of Valjean does this? Comes back here after I caused you such distress... now you are aware of who I am?".  
Cosette glanced at the shining ring placed on her finger and then back to Javert as she prepared to answer, to tell him a truth he almost certainly knew nothing of.  
"When you last encountered Papa, he was carrying an injured young man was he not?".  
Javert nodded in confirmation, "a half dead revolutionary".  
Cosette bit her lip nervously, deciding how best to proceed, then extended her hand towards Javert all the while indicating the wedding ring on her finger and breaking into a cautious smile as she looked him proudly in the face.  
"It is thanks to you Inspector that the half dead revolutionary survived", Cosette's smile broadened, "he is now my husband and I love him so very much".  
Javert watched Cosette's face illuminate with joy as she spoke, her deep love for her husband lighting up her face like that of an excited child.  
Love was something Javert himself had neither comprehension of nor did he seek, viewing it only as a distasteful human facet and a distraction from his work. For his entire life he had lived only with that which he deemed necessary to sustain him - food, lodgings, adequate clothing and eventually his purpose - the police. Love was practically a dirty word and sex an absolutely impermissible thought.  
Cosette smiled warmly at Javert, taking back her hand from before his good eye and looking proudly at the ring as if it held more value than the world itself.  
"It truly is all down to you Inspector", the gratitude was clear in her voice, "your actions that night, in letting Papa pass, you saved the life of my husband. Every moment of happiness my husband and I share, we owe it all not just to Papa but to you too!".  
These most unexpected of words had visibly taken Javert by surprise.  
Upon waking to find Cosette had returned to his cell he had steeled what little resolve remained within him and waited, accepting of the knowledge that he had spoken out of turn when last they met, and fully expecting this girl to embark upon a heartfelt defence of Valjean.  
This was not the conversation he had expected. The very notion of witnessing the daughter of Valjean expressing heartfelt thanks before him had momentarily given him cause to wonder wether his madness had deepened and he were hallucinating.  
"I must confess...", he finally summoned words to form a reply, "...the events of that night are somewhat... blurred to me... I must admit I never gave the injured revolutionary another thought".  
"It doesn't matter", the emphasis in Cosette's voice was clear as she placed her hand warmly on Javert's arm, "he survived, we are happy and you played a vital part in that".  
Javert watched the smiling girl, an immense ache once again creeping up his spine, his back and neck once again protesting his prolonged confinement against the wall.  
"I wish you and your husband well, I truly do", he began with sincerity, "but you owe me no thanks. Your union is simply a consequence, a side effect, of my actions".  
Cosette abruptly stood, pondering Javert and looking him over.  
She had come here with the intent of making a decision. A decision that would greatly affect both her and Javert's futures.  
Her decision was not yet made, but she knew she was nearing a decisive moment when her choice would be made for her.  
Javert's rags, just as damp, cold and dirty as last time hung from his body. His wrists and ankles still bore scars, lacerations and traces of dried blood from the wounds received as a consequence of battling his shackles. His bare feet were still dirty and he had clearly not been permitted to move more than a few paces from the spot his neck chain restricted him to.  
Looking around the cell she caught site of his blanket, the one she had given him during her last visit, and picked it up.  
"I did not feel deserving of that after the last time", Javert spoke up in admission as he watched her, a hint of shame to his voice.  
"Nonsense Monsieur", Cosette shook her head, her thoughts still whirring in her head as she pondered whether to say what she was planning.  
She approached Javert again, opening the blanket up and shaking it out.  
"Lean forward again", she indicated as she held out the blanket for this second time, "please Monsieur?".  
Sensing no other choice Javert did as requested, a sharp gasp escaping under his breath as pain once again lashed his back as he moved, his spine feeling as if it might shatter.  
It was clear that Cosette had noticed this time, her eyes darting to his face in concern as he gasped before she once again wrapped the blanket around him, relinquishing the ends of it to the grasp of his hands for him to pull it tight around him.  
"It doesn't matter to me how inadvertent your actions were Monsieur", she gently saw to arranging the blanket until she was satisfied with the warmth it provided, "the fact is that it happened".  
When satisfied that he was amply wrapped in the blanket, Cosette stopped, looking Javert straight in his good eye.  
"Inspector...", she began, her sense of obligation towards him at the forefront of her mind, "it is clear that I owe you a great debt. A debt myself and my husband must repay".  
"Javert...", he said with barely more than a whisper to his voice, "...there is no more 'Inspector'. The Inspector drowned long ago, washed away by the waters of the Seine. Madame, you have displayed exceptional kindness given who I am, what I was to your father... Please, address me simply as Javert".  
Cosette's face formed a genuine smile in response, the remaining tension her body felt at being in this mans presence dissipated and she relaxed feeling that a connection had finally formed between them.  
"If it pleases you...", she hesitated upon the removal of formalities, "...Javert".  
He nodded in expression of his thanks, aware that he had never before invited anybody to address him informally by name. Even now he felt it comparable to a lowering of his guard and yet it somehow felt appropriate.  
"Then you must call me Cosette!", the girl said with a chirp to her voice, "I absolutely insist upon it".  
Javert again nodded, accepting the request as one might accept the terms of an agreement.  
"Then please know Cosette", he began, "that neither you nor your husband owe me a debt of any kind".  
Cosette stood, shaking her head in disagreement, "that is where you are quite mistaken. I have come to realise that I must do whatever I can to help you. I simply cannot let you sit here like this".  
Javert watched her, his neck aching as he looked up, his mind doubting that there was anything this wisp of a girl could realistically do to aid his dire situation.  
"Javert I came here today expecting to find a monster, this terrifying policeman my father feared", she paused looking down at the broken man before her.  
"And what did you find?", Javert asked, curious to know how this daughter of Valjean, who was naive and simple but most certainly not stupid, had perceived him.  
"I didn't find a monster, I found a man. A man who has been damaged, both mentally and physically", sadness penetrated her voice as she looked at him, "I found a man who needs someone to help him and most of all, I found a man who needs a friend, possibly more than anyone has ever needed a friend".  
Javert was silenced. It was rare for anyone to speak words to Javert which rendered him speechless.  
The girl was certainly perceptive. Indeed he was damaged and he was broken, but she was also correct in assessing that he was also utterly unable to help himself in any way.  
He had nothing and no one.  
"I...", he waited while trying to formulate a response, "...do not know how to respond".  
Cosette again lowered herself next to Javert, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, taking in the features of his face and trying to imagine him as he was, proud and tall as her fathers writings described.  
"I may not understand what ails you", she said feeling the need to explain herself, "but I cannot with good conscience sleep soundly at night knowing that the man I owe so much to sits here, in these conditions, when I should be doing something to help."  
Javert listened, observing Cosette as she spoke and finding himself unsure as to exactly what he should be feeling.  
This was not charity from a do-gooder, nor was this condescending goodwill or patronising sentiment of the sort that would always have greatly irritated him.  
This was someone who, it appeared, harboured a genuine concern for him. This was both new and unknown.  
"You truly do not owe me anything", Javert repeated, "I would be greatly shamed to become a burden to you".  
Cosette's fingers soothingly rubbed his shoulder through the fabric of his blanket.  
This human touch of friendship made his shoulders tense defensively, the sensation being resolutely foreign to him.  
"Relax", Cosette quietly spoke as she watched him take in her words and actions, "there is no burden".  
Javert looked down, several deep coughs again rattling his chest.  
"You do not understand. I fight this ailment, this torrent of madness, every night", he sighed, "and with the greatest of respect, I doubt there is anything you can do to fix it".  
Cosette sat back, a sad expression on her face and gave a shrug, "then what is to be lost by trying?".  
Javert had no answer.  
"Let me put it another way", she continued, "if Inspector Javert arrived at the scene of a crime and found the culprit had fled, would he simply give up? Would he not try and resolve it?".  
Javert watched Cosette, admitting to himself that despite her docile appearance this girl was sharp, as sharp as the man who had raised her.  
"He would persevere...", Javert admitted.  
Cosette again smiled, "good!".  
Javert opened his mouth to speak then paused, as if wanting to broach a subject but thinking better of it.  
He thought, considering the one issue that overshadowed everything that had been said. He was not a man of words, nor was he a man of tact but there was a delicate subject both had steered clear of, avoiding as if it were made of gunpowder and might ignite if touched upon.  
"Madame...Cosette...", Javert corrected himself, "before we discuss anything further there is something I must ask".  
Cosette saw his features become solemn, "go on...", she prompted.  
Javert fought to find appropriate words, desperately hoping not to distress or offend.  
"I do not wish to cause you upset but I really must know, it is of great importance to me...", Javert paused before deciding to come straight out with it, "Jean Valjean, is he really dead? This is not a trick or a ploy?".  
Cosette looked down, closed her eyes and sighed, the memory still hurting.  
After a moment she looked up, noting how desperately Javert appeared to be awaiting an answer  
She nodded.  
"Jean Valjean is dead. He passed away several months ago... Papa is with God now".  
A breath Javert had unknowingly held whilst awaiting the answer escaped him, as if he had just received a great blow. He allowed his face to drop into his hands, enabling his expression of shock to be concealed.  
The chase was truly over.  
He took several deep yet steady breaths, as deep as his chest would allow, trying to calm the cold rush that had washed over him upon confirmation of the news. He had no choice but to calm himself, he were too weak and exhausted to stand another attack of his 'madness',  
"I am sorry", he finally looked up, locking eyes with Cosette and hoping desperately that he hadn't hurt her with his question.  
"I am not offended", she reassured him, "it is right that you know".  
"I do not understand", Javert looked to her eyes in search of answers, "Valjean was as strong as an ox".  
There was a long pause, the subject being of a sensitive nature that both found hard to comfortably discuss.  
Javert prepared to speak again.  
"If I may be permitted to ask... How did he die?".  
Cosette wiped a small tear from her gradually moistening eyes, biting her lip as she prepared to tell of the events that bore her great pain.  
"If it is too much", Javert interjected upon seeing the visible grief rise within Cosette, "then please do not sadden yourself on my account. I know all I need to know".  
Cosette shook her head in determination.  
"No, I will tell", she took in a deep calming breath, "Papa became ill, so very ill. And we were so stupid. After Marius and I were married Papa kept his distance, staying away from us in the belief that he were no longer needed, that I was no longer his".  
Javert listened in respectful silence.  
"Oh Javert he was needed! I needed him! Just as I need him now! It is unbearable to think of him sitting alone, dying a little inside with every passing day when his rightful place was really in our home. He should have dined at our dinner table, enjoyed the flowers and sun in our garden, enjoyed walks with us in the afternoon!"  
Cosette's lip quivered visibly and she clearly began to cry quietly as she remembered, looking down as if attempting to hide her tears.  
"Instead Papa withdrew from us. He was terribly ill and yet he never told us. He should have sent for me, for us, there is nothing we wouldn't have done to help him. We only saw him in his final hour. Cold, he was so cold...", she paused for a moment as she cried, "I just don't understand why, why did he stay away, why did he not ask for help?".  
Javert watched from where he sat, taking in every detail whilst being unsure himself of what words we're required in this situation. He had in his profession seen people grief stricken on many occasion, but it had always been impersonal. Usually his experience extended as far as speaking to those left behind after a murder and assuring them of swift and decisive justice, it had never involved a personal connection.  
"Perhaps...", Javert's voice quietly pushed in through the sobbing, "...perhaps he did not wish help?".  
Cosette looked up, fixing Javert with a confused stare and brushing aside tears with her fingers.  
"How do you mean?", she asked.  
Javert took a breath to steady the rattle in his chest, "I know Valjean... I knew Valjean...", he corrected.  
He waited several moments, allowing a thick cough to pass before continuing.  
"Valjean's life on the run, his various identities, his hiding... It was all part of his mission, his vow to the prosti....", he stopped himself before he misspoke, "...it was all part of his vow to Fantine, your Mother, to raise you. Once the vow was fulfilled his mission was complete".  
Cosette wept away quietly as she listened attentively to Javert's words.  
"But why? Why couldn't Papa come and live out his days with us?", she wept, "was it me? Did I do something wrong?".  
"No, it wasn't you...", Javert shook his head in answer to her question, raising his shackled wrists from his lap and indicating with a hand for her to stop and listen.  
"Although it fills me with a disturbing irony", Javert began, "I believe I fathom his reasons".  
"How can you, when you were here?", Cosette asked, struggling to comprehend Javert's words.  
Javert thought, trying to arrange his words as tactfully as he was able.  
"It would seem that in a short space of time Valjean's life changed, changed beyond all recognition", he began, "the world he knew for years suddenly ceased. He was not a young man. If he withdrew, keeping his ill health a secret, then he could die causing you no grief. He would simply disappear and hope you would move on".  
"But that is not fair", Cosette protested again wiping a tear as it ran down her face.  
"I am afraid Cosette", he again began looking to this girl next to him, "that despite the fairy tales, fairness has little or no bearing on life".  
To emphasise his point he raised his wrist shackles in Cosette's direction and gave a slight tug of the short chain that constantly held his wrists so close together.  
"The policeman in chains", he grunted, "hardly life being fair, do you see?".  
Reluctantly Cosette nodded, a harsh lesson in the realities of life having made itself known to her courtesy of Javert.  
"The irony that troubles me is that it appears we both sought the same exit. We both abruptly lost the worlds we knew, everything changed so fast...", Javert paused, a frown forming upon his face and his eyes staring into a fog of nothingness as he followed a train of thought, "Valjean withdrew to await the inevitable... I withdrew to the Pont au Change bridge to provoke the inevitable. We both sought the same thing, a way out".  
"Stop it Javert!", Cosette snapped with an edge of pleading within her voice, "...please, just stop".  
Javert shook himself back from his mental digression, focussing once again on Cosette.  
The details of Valjean's passing had come as a tremendous surprise to him. As Valjean had been a man of such tremendous strength Javert had expected to learn that Valjean's death had resulted from an accident rather than illness. Even in Toulon prisoner 24601 was rarely ill. Learning that he had simply gone off to die having lost the will to live was shocking, and yet at the same time, it also seemed somewhat in character for the sentimental old convict.  
"My apologies...", he hung his head, berating himself for thinking such words out loud, "...I forget myself. My thoughts, my thoughts often drift to a darker nature... I am sorry".  
Javert remained unmoved, a sigh escaping him as he looked down, avoiding Cosette's gaze.  
"I must fight harder to retain control in your presence", he said in a voice barely more than a mutter.  
Cosette took a handkerchief from her basket and dried her tears, noting how tired Javert now looked.  
Javert did not look up.  
Once again looking around next to him, Cosette picked up the untouched ration of bread which sat near him.  
Gently she tore a piece of bread off, holding it out to him as if it were a gesture of peace.  
Slowly he looked around to her, another wince at the pain which wracked his back.  
"You haven't eaten in days?".  
Javert shook his head slowly in answer.  
"Eat", Cosette urged.  
"There is little point...", Javert again faded to a lifeless whisper.  
Moments later he was again wracked by his cough, almost choking as he attempted to breathe such was the strength of the cough.  
He leaned forward, gasping greatly as he fought for breath, the sound of his chest sickly and the neck chain pulling taut against his collar as he leant.  
Finally he fell back, his energy again sapped, the attack passing and returning to him his breath.  
"You must let me fetch you a Doctor then at least!", Cosette again urged.  
Weakly Javert shook his head in a slow response.  
As she looked on, seeing him indicate this negative answer Cosette felt frustration built within her.  
"Why!?", she finally demanded, "Why do you not eat and why will you not consent to a Doctor?".  
Javert again took several moments to allow himself to breathe. He was exhausted, his lack of nourishment taking it's toll and his back constantly in a state of pain.  
"Food...", he breathed, "...will sustain me".  
"Yes", Cosette nodded.  
"A Doctor...", again a breath, "...may remedy me".  
"Yes", Cosette repeated, "that is the whole point!".  
"You do not understand", Javert looked to Cosette, his swollen, blackened eye still refusing to open.  
His thoughts swung back to those of the huge attack of anxiety his 'madness' had struck him with several nights previous.  
"If I eat, and if a Doctor returns me to health, then this Hell continues", his good eye fixed Cosette with a terrible expression of both pleading and terror.  
Unexpectedly he moved his shackled wrists, taking Cosette's hands into his own, a move so unprecedented it surprised even him, and held them tight as he looked directly at her, his good eye piercingly sharp.  
"Cosette, please understand... I cannot do this anymore! You cannot imagine what this is like! I cannot move from this spot! I am locked away here every hour of every day! I do not even know how long I have been here!", it was building again, stirring, he could feel it.  
"Eighteen months...", Cosette quietly answered, "...a year and a half".  
He was already trembling and now he trembled more upon hearing this, Cosette felt the shaking clearly through his desperate hands.  
"Cosette believe me...", he urged, "I was once a proud man. This disgrace, this humiliation, this shames me. I cannot sit here chained like this for the next ten, twenty years".  
"What are you saying?", an anxious look dawned on Cosette's face as she listened to his pleading words, a feeling of a foreboding intent lurking within his voice.  
"Valjean bore his chains for nineteen years, but even he had a fair trial... Even he had a definite sentence... And even he had hope of release", Javert breathed, letting go of Cosette's hands and jerking the wrist shackle in frustration.  
Cosette listened.  
As she watched him struggle a pain was building within her, recognising again the deep frustration that crushed his soul daily.  
"Let this damned illness take me!", Javert abandoned his struggle, weakly hanging his head and a long breath again rattling his chest, "my body feels like that of a man twice my age, perhaps one day I shall fall asleep here and be spared the indignity of ever waking again..."  
Cosette sat open mouthed, her mind falling back to thoughts of her Papa sitting alone as he waited for the end.  
"Javert, I refuse to accept what I am hearing", a firmness she was not used to displaying was clear within her voice, "you are doing just what Papa did only this time, this time I am not going to let it happen!".  
She stood, huffed out a large breath of annoyance and frustration and let out a sound like that of a suppressed pretend scream deep within her throat, looking to Javert as one might look to a disobedient child who were refusing do as told.  
"Honestly, Javert! You and Papa!", she berated throwing her arms up in the air in exclamation, "The sheer bullheaded stubbornness! I could bang your heads together!".  
He tried to suppress it, it was hardly appropriate to the conversation but for a moment it actually pulled him from his fatalistic thoughts, allowing him a moments precious reprieve... Just for a moment, upon hearing Cosette's frustrated outburst, he smirked in the briefest of amusement.  
"I saw that", she said, placing her hands on her hips, looking down at Javert.  
"Forgive me...", he looked to her, "... But know I speak the truth when I say I find this situation increasingly intolerable with every passing day".  
"That's it", Cosette simply stated, "That is absolutely it!".  
Her mind was made up, her decision made. There would be no going back now.  
Softening, she looked to him tenderly, observing his blanket wrapped around him, his face bruised and his spirit broken.  
"Javert, I spoke the truth before. I am going to help you, I am going to change this, and I am going to do everything in my power to help you get better", she announced with certainty ringing in her voice, "and if you get better, you can get out of here!".  
The very thought, the tiniest chance that he could conquer his 'madness' and one day be freed seemed almost beyond comprehension, as if it were a far off glimmer of hope that were almost beyond reach.  
"What do you say Javert?", Cosette asked, "will you accept my offer of help? If you decline then you know you will die here alone, in the cold and dark".  
She waited, watching as he clearly gave consideration to the vast and serious implications of her words.  
"Or you could find the courage to accept the help offered by this mere girl who, wether you believe it or not, has come to care about what becomes of you".  
Cosette waited, closing her eyes for several moments as she awaited the answer of this man to whom the very concept of asking for help, or being perceived as week was deeply discomforting. Slowly, she walked to the other side of the cell, taking a moment to look up and observe the tiny window that let in such a meagre amount of light, before striding slowly back.  
"I...", Javert hesitated, finding these words almost impossible to speak, "...I am not a weak man, do you understand?... I do not depend on others".  
Cosette kept back, remaining silent, giving him respectful space and ample time to arrange his words.  
"But...", he again paused, "...I reluctantly accept that I do require an ally".  
"No Javert", Cosette corrected, "you need a friend, even if it is the first friend you have ever had. I will be both your friend and your ally if you will accept my help".  
With that Cosette lowered herself before him and held out her hand as if concluding a business deal.  
One more pause and he spoke again.  
"It is agreed", Javert nodded raising a chained hand and cautiously taking Cosette's own in a weak handshake.  
"Good!", Cosette beamed a great smile of relief.  
Turning to one side she again picked up the bread, breaking another piece off, "Now eat, please", she urged as she handed it over.  
With a nod of acceptance upon having made a solemn agreement Javert took it and complied with her request, the bread being the first thing he had eaten in almost three days.  
"And while you eat", Cosette continued, "I want you to tell me what I can do for you right now. What is the one thing, no matter what it is, that would make life just a little more bearable? I need to start somewhere Javert".  
The bread was poor quality, it always was, but to Javert's famished body it was a pure indulgence.  
He listened as he ate, considering Cosette's question.  
"There is one thing", he admitted, still discomforted at discussing weakness, "I cannot find words to adequately describe the pain I endure each day in my back and neck".  
Cosette listened, aware already that he was suffering in some way after having witnessed him wince sharply on more than one occasion.  
"This damned chain", he gestured upwards to his neck chain, "this accursed monstrosity prevents me from lying down. When I sleep I must find a position sitting up that allows me rest. I have not been permitted to lie down for... How long?".  
"A year and a half", Cosette repeated, her heart aching as she listened to him.  
Javert sat back, his back throbbing on cue and his hands balling into fists at the pain, "Right now, the only relief I desire is to lie down, the rest be damned".  
Cosette turned to her basket, picking out a small pouch, pleased that she had the foresight to bring this item and it's contents with her in advance of her decision. She stood, moving away from where Javert sat and proceeding to the cell door, all the time being watched cautiously by Javert who seemed to be silently questioning where she was suddenly going.  
"I have promised to help you", she stated, "now let us see what we can do?".  
With a strain she eased the heavy door open and left, pulling it shut behind her.  
Javert sat in silence, wondering exactly what his new ally were up to.

 

It took only moments for Cosette to walk the short distance from the passageway which housed the miserable cells to Monsieur Loiselet's office.  
"Come!", his voice called as she knocked upon his door.  
Cosette opened the door and entered, seeing Monsieur Loiselet seated behind his desk filling in paperwork. The office was of stark contrast to the cell she had just left, a window allowing in generous sunlight, a hat and warm coat hanging from a hook and various writing materials piled neatly on the desk.  
"Ah, Madame Pontmercy", he said as he looked up, pausing his writing and laying down his pen.  
Cosette entered further into the office and stood before his desk.  
Respectfully Monsieur Loiselet stood, "I trust all is well? Did your visit to the Policeman conclude satisfactorily?".  
"It is of him I wish to speak Monsieur Loiselet", Cosette began.  
"If he has caused you further upset Madame he will be punished", Loiselet said firmly.  
"No he has not", Cosette shook her head, "and I would appreciate it if there were no further chastisements of that nature against him".  
Monsieur Loiselet appeared surprised, hesitating for a moment in thought before once again sitting and indicating for her to also take a seat.  
"So...", Monsieur Loiselet began once both were seated, "you wish to discuss our Policeman?".  
"Yes", Cosette nodded, "may I ask what is to become of him? Long term I mean?".  
Monsieur Loiselet sat back in his chair, exhaling a deep breath.  
"The Policeman, I am sure you have realised, is of greatly unsound mind. When it strikes, he has little or no control over his madness", Loiselet began, "and like all the other souls here there is no family to claim him".  
Cosette continued to listen, the sadness of Javert's situation increasing her growing feeling of responsibility toward him. She had, it occurred to her, never asked him if he had family.  
"He has no one?", she asked.  
Monsieur Loiselet shook his head where he sat, "No one. That is why Monsieur Gisquet, his superior officer, approved the hospital's request to send him here. There was simply nowhere else, and there was no way he could be released to fend for himself in his state of mind. It was for the best".  
"With respect Monsieur Loiselet this seems hardly the best place for someone who needs help", she said in disagreement, "in fact, I do not see much help taking place at all".  
There was silence as Loiselet thought, trying to gather a response to give this sweet but naive girl. "Forgive me Madame Pontmercy, but there is no help for people like these", Loiselet explained, "there are those who argue that madness is caused by a chemical imbalance in the body, and some who still believe their souls are possessed by demons. I do not know, but by keeping them here we prevent them causing harm to themselves or anybody else".  
Cosette paused.  
"So you are saying he has no hope?", she asked, saddened by such an attitude.  
"We feed him, we clothe him, we provide him shelter", Monsieur Loiselet defended, "with no one to claim him and no family take responsibility for him that is all we can do, just like all the others. And to answer your question Madame, he is almost certain to remain here until the day he dies".  
Cosette took in a deep breath, saddened that anybody could disregard the life of another so easily.  
The time had come to do that which her heart told her was right, was necessary.  
She raised the pouch she held in her hand and placed it on the table under the nose of Monsieur Loiselet, it's contents making a metallic jangle as it landed on the hard desk.  
Leaning forward Cosette carefully untied the binding that held the pouch closed.  
"I and my family claim him. I will take responsibility for him", she stated as the pouch revealed that it contained a number of coins, "I trust this will be enough to see that he starts receiving any help he requires?".  
Monsieur Loiselet appeared genuinely dumbfounded at this unexpected turn of events, his eyes looking first to the currency and then to Cosette with a look of sheer surprise upon his face.  
"But...why? What is he to you?", he asked with genuine curiosity within his tone, "are you sure you understand what you are saying Madame? This isn't at all like adopting a stray dog. The man is tormented!".  
Cosette nodded, resolute in her decision to go ahead with that which she felt was right.  
"The man has a name, and if it is an explanation you require Monsieur then I will give you one. I did not realise who he was or that he was even here until my first visit", she began with complete honesty.  
Monsieur Loiselet listened with intense curiosity as Cosette spoke.  
"Inspector Javert was known to my late father...", Cosette continued with a formality to her words, trying to sound confident yet avoiding the entire truth whilst also trying to avoid lying, "...he and my father were acquaintances going back many years".  
"I see", a clearer understanding was now dawning on Monsieur Loiselet's face as he listened, as if pieces of a puzzle were falling into place before his eyes, "but you do realise that he cannot simply be cured overnight, if at all?".  
Cosette was relieved Monsieur Loiselet had not sought greater detail from her as to how her Papa knew Javert. She did not think herself as capable of telling a convincing lie nor had she, during all that had taken place, taken time to invent a false story. Inwardly she sighed a great breath of relief.  
"I understand perfectly Monsieur Loiselet, but my Papa raised me to help those in need and I cannot simply walk away from here leaving Inspector Javert to endure this suffering alone", she finished, concluding her explanation and offering no further detail.  
Monsieur Loiselet took a moment and then smiled at her briefly, nodding his head with admiration.  
"Alright", he said, "you seem to have a grasp on what you are doing and I dare say, if I may be so bold Madame, that your father has raised a fine and morally upstanding young lady".  
Cosette bowed her head slightly in an unspoken thanks as Monsieur Loiselet opened his desk drawer and removed a pile of documents.  
She sat as he methodically searched through them, each seeming to correspond to an inmate of the asylum.  
"Didier, no... Gounelle, no... Héroux, no... Jaccoud, no... Aha! Javert!", he pulled the record from the pile, glancing to double check it was the correct one before setting it on the desk.  
Cosette watched as Monsieur Loiselet examined the document.  
"Javert, Police Inspector, admitted July 8th 1832, failed attempt at suicide, greatly disturbed and of unsound mind, transfer authorised by M. Gisquet, Prefect of Police, Paris".  
Spinning the document round to face Cosette Monsieur Loiselet, leaning slightly forward across his desk, pointed at the bottom of the page.  
"By signing here you effectively become the closest thing he has to next of kin", he explained, watching the girl as her eyes scanned the document, taking in all it's details, "it doesn't entitle him to release, but it does give you say over what happens to him".  
"I understand", Cosette agreed.  
Monsieur Loiselet passed Cosette the pen he had been writing with when she had entered. Taking it in her hand she signed her name and the deed was done.  
She placed the pen down and pushed the document back to Monsieur Loiselet's side of the desk.  
"Now that is done, I do fully intend to help him recover enough to some day be released", Cosette stated, "I appreciate that this may not be any time soon, but he has to have hope".  
Doubt was clear on the face of Monsieur Loiselet, his expression clearly saying that which he would not speak aloud.  
"What do you intend to do?", he enquired.  
Cosette reached forward, pushing the pouch of money towards Monsieur Loiselet.  
"The Inspector is quite ill Monsieur. I want you to fetch a Doctor, a reputable Doctor", Cosette instructed, "...but first I ask one more thing....".

 

It had been some time since Cosette had abruptly left, leaving him once again chained and alone in his cell.  
During the time since her leaving Javert had finished the bread and drunk half of his water.  
The intake of both food and water after so long had caused him to feel somewhat stronger. It wasn't much and his body was still weak but he no longer trembled from hunger.  
He sat back slowly again, a splintering pain gripping his back as he leant causing him to grit his teeth until it passed.  
Holding the ends of his blanket in the fingers of his closely linked hands he once again pulled his blanked tight around himself. The feeling of warmth was something he had almost forgotten in the time he had been here. During these winter days the cold of the cell was such that was regularly able see his own breath as he sat shivering in his chains by the wall, frequently cursing the name of Valjean for his situation.  
Yet now he found himself warmed by the generosity of Valjean's adopted daughter.  
Javert pondered wether it were really him or the world itself that had finally gone mad.  
As if in answer to his question the cell door creaked then once again opened. Cosette peered around the heavy door before finally pushing it all the way open.  
"It is done", she announced with a pride to her voice as if an accomplishment had been made.  
Wincing, Javert looked quizzically up watching Cosette as she made her way to the basket she had left behind.  
"What is done?", he asked eyeing the girl with curiosity as she moved.  
Turning to him Cosette smiled, her smile reassuring, relieved, and a little pleased.  
"I signed paper work entitling me to assist you", she began, "now I can officially help you in any way I can and I promise I will do my best not to let you down".  
Such kindness, still alien to Javert, made him uncomfortable. The assistance the kindness brought was, he reluctantly admitted, quite welcome - it was the not knowing how to respond to such acts that troubled him.  
"It is I who must not let you down", Javert replied, more as a strict instruction to himself rather than a response to Cosette.  
He continued to observe Cosette as she went about what clearly appeared to be a pre-prepared mission.  
Reaching carefully into her basket Cosette lifted out what Javert recognised as more blankets.  
She unfolded the first one and spread it carefully on the floor before Javert, covering the cold stone and old straw.  
"What are you doing?", he asked, a mix of curiosity and confusion to his tone. He had always disliked not knowing what was happening.  
Cosette shook out and spread another blanket on top of the first, ensuring a second layer of blanket further subdued the cold of the floor.  
Looking at Javert with a determined expression she answered as she worked, "I am setting you on the path to recovery Javert, just trust me... a little?".  
Finally she took a third blanket and, leaving it folded, placed it at the top of the laid out blankets as if it were a pillow.  
"What is that for?", Javert asked with another cough, full in the knowledge that the tempting blankets were well out of his reach despite being so close infront of him.  
"Madame Pontmercy insisted upon it", a commanding male voice answered unexpectedly as Monsieur Loiselet strode into the cell through the open door.  
Javert's shoulders tensed, still feeling obliged to sit up straight before an authority figure even if it were one tasked with denying him freedom. His reaction came entirely naturally for it was the same respect he demanded of prisoners back in the old days, in Toulon.  
Monsieur Loiselet strode confidently up to Javert, small objects concealed within his closed hand. Javert cast his eyes down, unsure if he had done wrong, caused offence in some form and awaited whatever punishment was to come next. Once Monsieur Loiselet was stood beside him, Javert felt a hand grasp hold of his metal collar, pulling at it with a chinking of metal accompanying the action as it all the time pulled against his throat.  
Behind his closed lips he wolfishly bared his teeth assuming that Monsieur Loiselet were, on a whim, intent on tightening the hated device.  
There were several chink sounds, followed by that of metal slumping loosely against a stone wall. These were then followed by the clunk of the padlock being refastened.  
It took Javert a moment to comprehend what had just occurred, refusing at first to believe it and thinking it a trick of his mind.  
Cosette stepped forward, watching him and then leaning down to place a hand again on his shoulder.  
"It's gone Javert", she assured him with honestly clear upon her face, "you can move".  
Unconvinced, Javert raised his chained hands and felt. The collar was still in place and he reached for the padlock that kept him linked to the neck chain. His fingers haphazardly found it. It was there, but the neck chain was no longer attached. The wolf was no longer tethered.  
His eyes widened momentarily in an uncharacteristic bout of surprise and he looked to Cosette, sick as he was yet barely able to conceal his disbelief after so long.  
Cosette in turn looked to Monsieur Loiselet, still standing to the other side of Javert as if passing a silent instruction.  
Loiselet nodded in response and turned, kneeling down by Javert's ankles where his legs lay outstretched before him.  
Taking hold of a key from the same bunch, Loiselet leant forward and unfastened the ankle shackle nearest him. With a shake the shackle reluctantly opened, Loiselet releasing Javert's left ankle to reveal a mess of both scaring and weeping lacerations that eighteen months of fighting it had resulted in.  
Javert stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the wounds in the presence of Monsieur Loiselet. It was, after all, nothing he hadn't seen before in his years at Toulon.  
"He needs to lie down", Cosette instructed, her tone sounding almost an order after having seen the extent of Javert's shackle wounds.  
"Can you stand Javert?", Monsieur Loiselet looked down at the man in his charge, his voice authoritative.  
Javert nodded, refusing to show weakness to Monsieur Loiselet. He was a proud man, not a dog that had been housebroken.  
His weakened legs lay outstretched before him and, summoning what little strength remained, he slowly moved them. He had rarely stood in the last few weeks, there seeming to be little point since he could do no more than shuffle a mere handful of minuscule paces before the neck chain halted his advance. His weakened muscles had only complied during outbursts of rage which had soon passed with the subsiding of the resultant adrenalin rush. With effort his knees bent as he pulled his legs in, trying to force himself upwards and leaning painfully against the wall for support. With each movement the chains of his half released ankle shackles clattered as the shackle attached to his left ankle dragged the released right shackle along the stone floor.  
Understanding the struggle she witnessed Cosette took hold of Javert under his arm, nodding a second silent instruction to Monsieur Loiselet for him to do the same.  
With a strained breath and trembling body Javert slowly stood, his weight leaning almost entirely against the wall.  
"You're doing fine...", Cosette spoke gently, increasingly aware of the fact that his legs were shaking from the strain.  
"Can you take a step?", Monsieur Loiselet this time cut in as he supported Javert from his left side.  
Tentatively Javert, blanket still wrapped around his shoulders, moved his right foot, supported around his waist by both Cosette and Monsieur Loiselet.  
"Gently does it", Cosette urged as she attempted to shoulder her burden of Javert's weight as best as a small built young lady could.  
"And another...", Monsieur Loiselet prompted, feeling ever more clearly the shaking of Javert's unsteady legs.  
With a couple more steps Javert stepped onto the blankets that had been laid out.  
"Let's get you gently to your knees first", Cosette suggested.  
Javert nodded. His breathing was becoming heavier through the exertion and slowly his assistants helped him lower himself to his knees.  
Immediately Javert leaned forward, placing his chained hands onto the blankets laid out before him for balance. His long hair fell forwards as his body acclimatised to moving almost freely, and he coughed deeply, struggling once again to catch a breath.  
"Monsieur Loiselet", Cosette began with urgency, "thank you for your assistance but would you please now be kind enough to summon the Doctor we spoke of?".  
"Certainly", Monsieur Loiselet nodded before getting to his feet, wiping his hands against his clothing and leaving.  
When after some moments his cough subsided, Javert looked to Cosette stood beside him, unsure of quite what to say.  
"You need to lie down Javert, the Doctor is on his way", she urged.  
Still trembling from the sudden movement Javert lowered himself forward onto the blankets with Cosette's help, slightly less uncomfortable in his weakness now Monsieur Loiselet had left.  
Once lowered onto the blankets Javert shuffled onto his side, finally relenting and allowing himself a prolonged yet muffled cry of pain.  
Alarm spread upon Cosette's face as she heard this, "Your back?", she asked as she knelt beside him, his back toward her.  
"Yes... It will pass", he assured her with a prolonged grimace, "I am not used to movement".  
Cosette again nodded in understanding yet fully aware that she could not comprehend the discomfort he suffered.  
"Are you comfortable on your side?", she asked where she knelt as she pulled his blanket from his shoulders and prepared to cover him properly with it now he was laid down.  
"I will find this easier to breathe", he explained, another cough passing as he spoke.  
Once more Cosette nodded, respecting his wishes.  
She began to place the blanket over him as he lay with his back towards her on this makeshift bed she had prepared when she stopped abruptly, eyes focused on his pained back.  
"My goodness, your back!", she exclaimed as she cast her eyes upon the damp and filthy rags which clad his back.  
A hole had been worn clean through the rags just below his right shoulder blade, rubbed away by months of contact with the rough stone of the wall. The exposed skin was red, scuffed and scratched, topped with a large blister of painful appearance.  
"It is a mess?", Javert enquired in a tired whisper.  
"I'm afraid so", Cosette said sadly as she continued from where she had halted, pulling the blanket over him to his shoulders and covering his chained hands that lay out before him.  
His head lay on the folded blanket that was to act as a pillow, and he exhaled a deep husky breath, finally allowing his aching muscles to relax a little as the warmth of the blankets began to spread through his aching and sore body.  
"Cosette", he called through his exhaustion, "I must remind you that I have no funds to pay for a doctor".  
"It is taken care of", Cosette gently reassured, her hand as ever placed on his shoulder as he lay before her.  
"You know I dislike charity...", he breathed quietly, his disdain at having fallen this far clear within his wounded pride, "...I must repay you".  
Cosette sighed. The more time she spent with Javert the more her heart broke for him, and yet with each protest he made against accepting charity or causing her inconvenience, the more her respect for him grew. It pained her greatly to witness the state this fearsome policeman described in her fathers writings had been reduced to.  
"Then repay me with stories of my Papa, what the Jean Valjean you knew was like", she compromised.  
Javert lay quiet for several moments, the sensation of warmth luring him towards a drowsiness he was unable to fight.  
"They are not all good stories...", he answered with hesitation.  
"I want to hear them...from you", Cosette looked down at his exhausted form, "but first I want you to rest. The Doctor will be here as soon as he can".  
Wordlessly Javert nodded, his eyes slowly closing for the first peaceful time since his arrival eighteen months ago.  
Cosette watched in silence, well aware that Javert had finally succumbed and drifted off into a desperately needed sleep.  
Gently she continued soothing his arm with the thumb of her hand as he slept, watching over him like a guard dog.  
As she watched him she recalled a quote from her fathers writings, from the night he had released Javert unharmed from the barricade.  
Looking down at the sleeping form of Javert she whispered these words of forgiveness aloud.  
"You've done your duty, nothing more".

End chapter 4.


	5. "I am from the gutter too..."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cosette watches faithfully over Javert as he lies fevered until the arrival of a Doctor.
> 
> As he sleeps, Javert's mind slips back to the loss of childhood innocence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter involves a very short scene of a sexual nature (not overly graphic). I do not know the age of my readers so if you do not think you should be reading then please stop now.
> 
> Another note: Neither the book nor the stage version ever seems to make it clear wether the prison Javert was born in was Toulon. Since I am unsure wether women prisoners were present in Toulon (I am not a historian) I have deliberately left the prison nameless. If women prisoners were in Toulon then please go ahead and imagine the relevant part of this chapter as being set there, if they weren't then please imagine it being set elsewhere and Javert was merely posted to Toulon during his career.
> 
> Again, thank you so much to all who read. Every single comment gives me a little thrill inside :)

Broken Man - Chapter 5

"You know nothing of Javert!  
I was born inside a jail,  
I was born with scum like you,  
I am from the gutter too..."

Three hours.  
Since the departure of Monsieur Loiselet Javert had slept peacefully and undisturbed for three hours. During that time Cosette had kept a silent vigil at his side, watching over him and ensuring he remained both covered, warm and as comfortable as circumstances would allow.  
During these three long hours Javert had never once stirred, his chest delivering the occasional rattle as he breathed was the only sound to be heard.  
Cosette had hoped the Doctor would come quicker, immediately had been her hope but it was not to be.  
Monsieur Loiselet had returned explaining that the Doctor was currently out, dealing with an accident nearby where an old building was being pulled down.  
A beam had fallen and several workers had been injured.  
Upon calling at the Doctors address Monsieur Loiselet had encountered the Doctors wife who was also both his secretary and book keeper. She had assured him that once he returned he would call at the asylum straight away.  
The delay, Cosette acknowledged, had at least allowed Javert to gain the rest he so desperately needed without being disturbed.  
She watched him as he slept. His blankets moved gently with his breathing as he lay on his side and his long and greying dark hair flowed loose over the folded blanket which served him as a pillow. A hue of silver imbued his hair with a colour similar to that Cosette imagined of a wolf's pelt.  
Cosette leaned in closer to Javert, observing him with growing concern as he slept.  
With the lightest of touches she placed the back of her pale hand across his forehead, wishing the Doctor would hasten his arrival.  
An anxious sigh escaped her lungs as she looked down upon Javert.  
His temperature was rapidly rising, his skin warmer to the touch than would be expected of someone residing in a cold cell, and he had in the last couple of hours begun to sweat.  
During the last hour Cosette had taken the opportunity to ask a guard to fetch a pail of clean water and to provide her with a cloth, rag or some form of useable material.  
The guard had duly returned a few minutes later with the requested water and some torn up pieces of rag.  
As she had done on several occasions during this past hour, Cosette dipped the rag into the cool water and rung it out before dabbing it gently across Javert's forehead.  
Again he did not stir, Cosette herself finding this alarming for one as alert and on edge as Javert.  
She continued her work, dabbing the cold cloth over his increasingly hot forehead and face.  
The events of the day had unfolded so fast, her life again having changed once more with the passing this day.  
Upon leaving the safety of her home this morning Cosette had held the expectation that Javert would reject her return, that he would not receive her or that he would expel her from his presence for the simple misdeed of being the daughter of Jean Valjean.  
The day had imparted upon Cosette revelations that she could never have expected. The first, that Javert was not the tyrant she had expected. The fact that he was a good, honest and moral man had come as a surprise. She had expected an ogre, but like a myth which grows out of all proportion, the reality had revealed a different man entirely.  
Secondly, that in just hours she had formed a bond with this man of rigid inflexibility, honour and fiercely guarded independence.  
She wondered briefly if she were dreaming, that perhaps she had not yet woken and none of this were real.  
To start the day in fear of a man, and end it watching faithfully over him as his only protector almost beggared belief.  
Again she dabbed his forehead, sweat trickling across his face as he remained on his side.  
Cosette placed the cloth back in the water, ringing it out once more before tending again to his searing brow.  
Her sensation of anxiety, deep within her, began to rise as she watched him. Knowing he was worsening with each passing hour she once more placed her hand on his shoulder, attempting to sooth him despite knowing this gesture was futile and made little difference. In a way, she admitted, it made her feel better, calmer.  
As if in answer to her prayer the cell door creaked as it began to open. Looking around Cosette saw Monsieur Loiselet enter the cell, a man followed behind him wearing a thick winter coat, a top hat and carrying a Doctors satchel.  
"Madame...", Monsieur Loiselet called quietly as he entered, "Doctor Reynaud has arrived".  
Monsieur Loiselet held out a hand, gesturing Doctor Reynaud to where Javert lay.  
Cosette watched as the Doctor stepped towards Javert, kneeling down next to him, removing his hat and placing both it and his satchel on the ground. He nodded in greeting to Cosette as she knelt opposite him at Javert's right side.  
"Tell me his information", Reynaud instructed with a businesslike tone as he opened his satchel, "his history".  
Monsieur Loiselet stepped forward, standing by Cosette.  
"He's been here a year and a half due to suffering a mental breakdown and attempting to take his own life", Monsieur Loiselet explained, "his chest has been bad for quite some time now with no sign of improvement".  
"He's getting worse", Cosette interjected, "his temperature is rising and he is sweating profusely".  
Doctor Reynaud listened, nodding in response as he felt his patients forehead and took a mental note of the words being spoken to him.  
"Yes, he has a definite fever", the Doctor confirmed, "his body is doing all it can to fight his illness".  
"He is very weak though...", Cosette continued with the concern in her voice clearly evident, "it took two of us just to help him over here to lie down. Monsieur, he has sat chained against that wall and unable to lie down all these months. He is in such terrible pain as a result".  
"That...", Monsieur Loiselet interjected clearing his throat and clearly trying to remain polite, "... is because this is an asylum for the mentally disturbed, not a hotel"  
The Doctor held his hands up, silencing both parties immediately.  
"Madame... Monsieur...", he spoke, "The reasons are not my concern, merely the facts".  
Both nodded apologetically and looked down.  
"Now, I need his name, his age, wether he has any known allergies or long term illnesses", the Doctor returned to his business at hand.  
Before anyone could answer a long and sickly cough interrupted, a harsh and gravelly breath following it.  
Cosette looked down, placing her hands gently on Javert's covered shoulder as she observed his good eye struggling to open.  
"Javert...", he breathed with a faint voice in answer to the Doctors question... "Javert... Fifty three years...".  
Cosette leaned forward, noting that Javert was barely able to keep even his good eye open.  
"Javert, this is Doctor Reynaud", she spoke quietly just above his ear, "he is going to help you, to make you well".  
With little strength Javert nodded, unable to say anything further, his cough once again shaking his body under the blankets.  
The Doctor looked up, first to Monsieur Loiselet and then to Cosette.  
"I believe I know everything I need to know", the Doctor began, "now if you will both excuse me I require some privacy within which I can properly examine Monsieur Javert".  
"Of course", Monsieur Loiselet nodded and reached down, extending his hand towards Cosette.  
With uncertainly on her face Cosette took the offered hand and rose to her feet, her eyes never wavering from Javert.  
"You will take care of him?", her voice sounded almost childlike as Monsieur Loiselet gently led her to the cell door.  
"I promise I will do all I can Madame", Doctor Reynaud nodded.  
Cosette looked back one last time as she left the cell, seeing Doctor Reynaud as he leant forward and placed two fingers onto Javert's neck near to his collar to check his pulse.  
Slowly they moved away from the cell and began to walk down the cold passageway.  
"He will call us when he is done", Monsieur Loiselet assured as he indicated for Cosette to accompany him, "it is best if they are alone, the Doctor can work undisturbed. Besides, it would not be appropriate for a man to be examined before the eyes of a lady".  
The walk to Monsieur Loiselet's office was slow. Once there he pulled the chair out from under his desk and gestured politely for Cosette to sit.  
With a nod of acceptance she complied, sitting once again at his desk and watching as he seated himself the other side.  
Neither spoke for some moments, nobody knowing quite what to say.  
Finally Monsieur Loiselet leaned forward, picking up a finely cut glass decanter from his desk and pouring it's golden liquid into one of two glasses which sat next to it.  
"Brandy", he explained, "I find it warms me on these winter days. Would you care for a drop?".  
Cosette shook her head, her hands sitting clasped in her lap, her fingers fidgeting and her body tense.  
"No", she replied, "No thank you, I do not care for such drinks of such strength".  
Again another silence fell.  
"It is very kind of you", Monsieur Loiselet began again, "all that you are doing for him".  
"He deserves a little kindness", Cosette answered, "Somehow I do not think he has received much in his life".  
"What do you have planned? I will admit that I am very curious to see wether there is anything you can do to help his mind heal", Monsieur Loiselet continued as he finished his Brandy and set the glass down on his desk, curious to know Cosette's response.  
"You said just now in the cell that this is an asylum not a hotel", Cosette began as she looked up, unsure of wether to make this point.  
"I did not mean to offend", Monsieur Loiselet said apologetically.  
"But it is not a prison either", Cosette continued, "and yet Inspector Javert is locked away in that cell, chained like a criminal. Is it any wonder his mind does not heal?".  
"What are you saying?", Monsieur Loiselet dug further, "that we should just open the door and let him walk out?".  
Cosette shook her head. She did not wish for an argument but she did wish to make her point.  
"No, no even I see he is not ready. The attacks he suffers are frightening to witness", she attempted an explanation, "but he can only heal if he is treated less like an animal and more like a man".  
Monsieur Loiselet sat back as he listened, "You are his next of kin now, what would you suggest?".  
"Such simple little things", Cosette answered, her face imploring him to listen, "he suffers such terrible pain in his back from being sat against that wall, from being unable to lie down, he needs something to sit on".  
Monsieur Loiselet tapped his fingers on his desk, thinking.  
"There is an abandoned office further down the passageway", he began, "it has not been used for years. We use it mainly for storage now but I believe there is an old stool in there. I shall have to check, but if so will this suffice?".  
For the first time since Javert had fallen asleep Cosette smiled.  
"Yes! Thank you!", she beamed, "I did not expect you to agree".  
"It is not a huge thing to ask", he admitted, "and I am interested to see where this experiment in healing him leads".  
Cosette's smile continued before Monsieur Loiselet spoke again.  
"Will there be anything else?", he asked.  
Cosette thought, weighing up the views and opinions her visits had given her.  
"I do not believe", she began, "that leaving a damaged mind unoccupied and idle can be beneficial".  
Monsieur Loiselet listened, allowing Cosette again to explain her point.  
"Inspector Javert was a hard working man. With nothing to focus on he dwells on his situation, he loses control of his thoughts and this brings on an attack", she explained, "I intend to bring him something to read. Even if it is just the newspaper, he needs to be able to be able to focus on something, to have something to occupy his mind, something other than constant thoughts of being trapped for life in that cell or flashbacks to his attempt at suicide".  
"Alright", Monsieur Loiselet nodded, "your idea seems sound. Bring your reading materials and I will have one of the guards bring that old stool".  
"Thank you so much Monsieur Loiselet", Cosette smiled for several moments before her smile faded.  
"What's wrong?", Loiselet enquired as he watched her demeanour change.  
"I hope I am not getting ahead of myself. I am hoping firstly that he has the strength to recover", Cosette sounded as if a tremendous weight bore down upon her soul, "he really is so ill, so pained, and so tired".  
"He is strong", Monsieur Loiselet confirmed, "I have seen him fight those chains of his all these months. When he needs it there is a strength and rage within him like that of a wild animal".  
Cosette breathed out a sigh, "I hope so".  
For the best portion of the next hour the conversation moved to small talk. Monsieur Loiselet explained that he had governed the asylum for seven years. Prior to this he had been a soldier in the army until an accident while his unit shifted canons had left him unable to bare much weight on his right knee over long distances. This had seen him granted an honourable discharge and he had moved to Paris, married, fathered two children and enjoyed fishing on the rare occasions when the family visited the countryside to see their in-laws.  
In turn Cosette had explained that she had spent a great portion of her life being raised in a convent, that her late Papa had invested in manufacturing, this being not entirely untrue, and that she had recently married her love Marius.  
The conversation continued for some time. Discussions of small things, wether it might snow this year and how much rain there had been recently all ceased as a knock rang out on the door of Monsieur Loiselet's office.  
The door opened and a guard stepped in looking to both Cosette and Monsieur Loiselet.  
"The Doctor is asking for you both", the guard said, pushing the door wide open to make way.  
Cosette hurried to her feet, a sensation of nerves jangling within her as she briskly strode towards the door, followed closely by Monsieur Loiselet.  
The pair made their way down the passageway towards the cell, it's door open.  
Cosette was first to enter, followed by Monsieur Loiselet who stood respectfully back remaining by the door.  
Javert now lay on his back, the rag that made for a cold compress lay across his forehead as Doctor Reynaud pulled the blanket that covered him back over Javert's body.  
Cosette stepped slowly forward, her expression pleading for news.  
"How is he Doctor?", she asked quietly, "will he be alright?".  
"You must be Cosette", the Doctor noted as he looked to her, watching her as she knelt beside his patient.  
"I am", she nodded.  
"He has muttered your name during moments of deliriousness", the Doctor explained.  
The doctor placed the last few items away and then focused his attention primarily on Cosette.  
"Monsieur Javert is very ill. He is suffering a serious chest infection and his fever is increasing rapidly, however, his cough shows no sign of producing blood and this is a good sign. I do believe we have caught this infection before it could worsen to a point from which would be unable to recover from", the Doctor explained.  
"So, he will get better?", Cosette asked, daring to allow herself a speck of hope.  
"He is very weak Cosette, both undernourished and dehydrated, but the odds are reasonable for a recovery. You have done well already by keeping his body warm and his head cooled, and I have given him a dose of quinine. Until his fever breaks you can do nothing more than continue as you are doing".  
Cosette again nodded, a smile now beginning to emerge on her face upon hearing that Javert stood a decent chance of survival.  
The Doctor continued.  
"There are a few important points. If and when he is able, he must drink, so please make sure he is supplied with plenty of clean drinking water, this meagre cup is not enough. Second, as soon as he is able to move, he must be relieved of these damp rags which pass for clothing. Cold damp rags will only hamper his recovery and cause him to fall ill again".  
Cosette was pleased. She had been appalled at the state of the rags Javert had been expected to wear. With eighteen months of wear they were frayed, filthy, bearing smears from bloodied wrists and holed in the back from near constant friction with the wall.  
"One more important thing", Doctor Reynaud looked this time to Monsieur Loiselet, "these shackles binding his wrists and the remaining one on his ankle, I insist they be removed as a matter of urgency so the wounds beneath them can be bandaged".  
Monsieur Loiselet paused before answering, Cosette turning to look at him.  
"I don't know...", Loiselet considered the request, "it is a rule that inmates must bare some form of restraint at all times - to protect guards from attacks".  
"He can't even stand!", Cosette insisted, her eyes looking to Loiselet's own, pleading.  
"Monsieur Loiselet", the Doctor continued, "the shackles have left wounds of some significance. If they are not treated then they stand a very good chance of becoming infected. If that happens then the worst case scenario is the wound becomes gangrenous and he could lose a hand or a foot, something I doubt he could survive at present".  
Monsieur Loiselet breathed out in reluctant agreement and left the cell without a word.  
He returned some moments later, walking briskly in before kneeling beside Cosette, a set of small keys in one hand and a bundle of rolled up bandages in the other.  
"I do not agree with this", he admitted, "but while he is in no state to move I shall comply".  
Cosette nodded a silent thank you as Monsieur Loiselet handed the bandages to the Doctor.  
Reynaud leant forward and pulled back the blanket which covered Javert's fevered body.  
His arms lay unmoving by his side as he lay on his sore back, his elbows bending inwards with his wrists meeting centrally where they lay shackled upon the ragged clothing covering his abdomen.  
After taking a moment to identify the correct key Monsieur Loiselet leant forwards and, taking a shackle in his hand, he unlocked it.  
Cosette gently took hold of Javert's left hand as his wrist was released. The skin beneath was scarred. Eighteen months worth of cuts, lacerations and flesh both torn and scraped were revealed with the shackles removal. Cuts which had partly healed only to be reopened by later struggles glistened with a coating of clear liquid mixed with blood seeping from the wounds.  
Cosette let out a breath of sorrow upon seeing the wounds his wrists bore, scarcely able to imagine the discomfort the shackles must have caused him to endure each day.  
Gently she set his freed arm down at his side, all the while being mindful not to disturb the wounds.  
A slight movement, in turn followed by the faint sound of a gruff voice attempting with difficulty to verbalise something took Cosette's attention.  
She looked around briskly at the source and saw Javert's good eye partly open.  
He struggled once more to speak, again only able to voice a gruff sound before he could attempt no more.  
"He drifts in and out of consciousness", the Doctor explained, "he's too delirious to speak, but he may understand what's happening".  
Slowly Javert flexed his fingers as the second shackle was unfastened.  
It revealed similar wounds and Cosette, leaning over him, placed his other arm gently down at his right side, again ensuring that she did not disturb the newly exposed wounds.  
It was the first time in eighteen months that his chained wrists had been parted and in response Javert, unable to find the strength or voice to form words, breathed out a sigh clearly filled with relief.  
Robbed of his ability to form words he slowly moved his head, giving the smallest of nods, before slowly closing his good eye once more, his features relaxing as he again fell back into a fevered sleep.  
"I think he approves", Doctor Reynaud observed as he unfolded the first of the bandages.  
He picked up Javert's right wrist and examined the wounds as Monsieur Loiselet moved around and and released the remaining shackle from Javert's ankle.  
"Hmmm... The wounds are reasonably clean", Doctor Reynaud observed as he began to wrap the bandage around Javert's wrist before fastening it with a pin.  
He then moved around to his patients left side, Cosette moving politely aside. The left wrist wound required a little cleaning, specks of rust from the shackle having to be picked out, before it too was wrapped in the clean bandages.  
"I do not believe any stitches are necessary", Doctor Reynaud observed as he worked, "These wounds are the result of much struggling and rough metal chafing against the flesh over a long period of time".  
Once more he moved, bringing himself to Javert's ankles.  
"I appreciate that this facility's resources may be minimal but please ensure his bandages are changed at the very least every two days", Doctor Reynaud instructed as he began bandaging the ankle wounds, "and if the wounds begin to seep through, or you see blood, please change them immediately".  
Cosette and Monsieur Loiselet both nodded, understanding their instructions fully.  
Upon completing his task of bandaging Doctor Reynaud sat back where he knelt, casting a look over his patient deep in both fever and sleep, and then to both Cosette and Monsieur Loiselet.  
"As for his back, he was not responsive enough to answer much in the way of questions so I feel I should return once he is improved and examine him further, but I do believe that eighteen months in that chain...", he pointed to the neck chain where it still hung from the wall, "...is most certain to have proved damaging. His muscles, his spine, the human body needs to lie down to rest. You say it took two of you just to get him to these blankets?".  
Cosette nodded. Reaching forward she took hold of the pulled back blanket and, now the bandaging was complete, again spread it over Javert's body once more, covering him tidily.  
"It took tremendous effort for him to force himself to stand, he had to lean his weight on the wall", Cosette recalled as the Doctor listened, "but he couldn't even do as much as take a step on his own".  
The Doctor paused, listening to the words and thinking.  
Finally he looked to Cosette, his expression serious.  
"When I arrived here Monsieur Loiselet informed me that you wish to aid this man in his recovery, some family connection to him?", he asked.  
"That is correct", Cosette answered.  
"Then when he is recovered enough you are going to have to encourage him to move, to make use of his legs", the Doctor directed, "in my examination I found his leg muscles to be severely weakened, wasted away from such disuse. You are going to have to change that... With Monsieur Loiselet's permission of course?".  
Monsieur Loiselet nodded, "As long as the means are acceptable it shall be done".  
"I will do everything in my power to encourage him", Cosette promised.  
"There is more. I am told that you and your family are covering all costs relating to his rehabilitation?", the Doctor enquired.  
Cosette nodded, hoping that this Doctor was not going to suddenly judge this as money making potential and triple his bill.  
"Then you must improve his diet. This dire bread is not enough to keep a rat alive", Reynaud discarded the remains of the bread which sat near Javert, "his diet must be both improved and increased if he is to grow stronger. He does not need to eat like a king, but this bread must be supplemented with some meat, some fruit, there are some wonderful oranges from Spain in some of the markets at the moment - my wife insists upon them".  
"I will do just that", Cosette agreed as if having just been handed a mission, "I will have Nicolette, of my house staff, fetch foods that will be beneficial to him".  
The Doctor nodded, looked to Cosette and then a few moments later to Monsieur Loiselet as if the proceedings had paused.  
"Monsieur Loiselet", he finally spoke, "would you mind if I spoke to the young lady alone for a moment?".  
Monsieur Loiselet nodded, clearly curious but politely compliant, "Of course, there is a brief matter I must attend to immediately anyway".  
With that Monsieur Loiselet left the cell, his footsteps fading away down the passageway with an air of determination to them.  
Finally Doctor Reynaud looked to Cosette, a mix of both curiosity and concern coming to her expression.  
"Madame...", he paused, "has Monsieur Javert mentioned anything at all to you regarding an irregularity with his heartbeat?".  
Cosette's nerves leapt upon hearing these words. The news that a recovery was expected had elated her and now the threat of there being something wrong was dragging this good news down, crashing it back to earth.  
"No", she answered with honesty, "No, he never mentioned anything".  
The Doctor thought, saying nothing for several moments.  
"Before you become too alarmed Madame, it is possible that it is nothing", he assured, "but having listened to his heartbeat, he does have a slightly irregular rhythm. Now it could be due to his current illness, or it could be something simple, age maybe, or perhaps a quirk he has had all his life with no ill effects... Or it could be the result of the stress and strain of his incarceration. I am told he suffers attacks of great fear, anxiety, rage?".  
Cosette looked down, nodding as she did so.  
"He does", she answered, "he tries to fight it but these thoughts, so dark, they overwhelm him".  
"I see...", Reynaud continued to listen, "and your plan is to help him recover so he may one day go free?".  
"That is correct", Cosette nodded.  
Reynaud looked down to Javert and then back to Cosette, "You do realise that very few people ever leave these places Madame?".  
Cosette sighed, anticipating another attempt to dissuade her from her chosen path.  
"I realise that Monsieur", she defended, "but not many of these people have someone willing to try, he does".  
"That is a fair point", the Doctor acknowledged but his voice soon became grave, "but have you really thought this through?".  
She hadn't. She knew she hadn't. She had gone into this lead fully by both her heart and her morals but with no firm plan of action.  
"I will do all that I can Monsieur", she answered with a confidence to her voice that, she hoped, had hidden her uncertainty.  
"Really?", the Doctor quizzed, "then let's say hypothetically that he recovers and is released, what then? Where will he go? What will he do?".  
Cosette fell suddenly silent, her eyes slowly looking down as she searched for an answer.  
She had none.  
Recognising the young lady before him was at a loss for a response the Doctor decided to continue his point.  
"Monsieur Loiselet told me Monsieur Javert was once a Police Inspector", he paused momentarily, ensuring his words were clearly being taken in, "you do realise he can never return to that profession, not after he has been held in a place such as this? It would simply not be permitted".  
"I...", Cosette tried to form a response but had no inkling of what to say.  
She reluctantly admitted to herself that she hadn't thought about any of this.  
Her idealistic mind had thought simply, too simply, that Javert could eventually recover and return to his old life as the proud Police Inspector.  
Now reality was biting and she recalled Javert's words to her about life not being fair.  
*"Despite the fairy tales, fairness has little or no bearing on life. The policeman in chains. Hardly life being fair, do you see?"*, were the words he had spoken to her prior to his illness peaking and his fever striking him down.  
Cosette looked at the ground and closed her eyes, a tide of shame passing through her as she realised how little she both knew and understood of the real world, sheltered as her upbringing had been.  
She opened her eyes as Doctor Reynaud spoke once more.  
"And where will he go if he recovers? If he had lodgings they will certainly have been cleared and rented out again since", he stated, "no one will offer work to one released from an asylum, and with no finances or lodgings he will be destitute, out on the streets like all the other beggars. Madame, please consider, is this what he would really want?".  
Cosette was silent, feeling like a child who had been admonished.  
For the first time since deciding to aid Javert she felt indecision, her stomach feeling sick at the treacherous thought of reconsidering.  
"Madame please do not think this a personal attack", Reynaud said softly upon recognising her inner turmoil, "if everybody was as charitable as your good self this world would be perfect... But this world is not perfect. Please, do not decide now, but think over what I have said.".  
"But he needs help...", Cosette said in the tiniest of voices.  
"Lots of people need help my dear, but we can't help them all. He is secure here. You have improved his conditions, he is free of his chains, and he has food and shelter. Perhaps kind Madame, you have done enough?".  
Cosette remained silent still, with no idea how to respond. Looking down she watched Javert sleeping before her, sweat glistening on his face and his breathing as scratchy as glasspaper.  
She thought, weighing up the possibilities of what could happen if she left him, if she abandoned him.  
It would, she concluded, be an ultimate betrayal of trust, reinforcing his belief than anyone connected to Jean Valjean were by definition untrustworthy. To offer much needed help to one in need and to then withdraw that help would go against everything she had ever been taught, both by her Papa and by the sisters who educated her in Christian teachings at the convent.  
To commit such an act would be akin to offering a drowning man a lifeline and then pulling it away once it was within reach.  
Javert had come close to drowning once before and she would not allow it to happen again.  
She leant forward protectively and gently lifted the rag from Javert's forehead, once more dipping it into the pail of water beside her and ringing it out.  
With the lightest of touches she once more tended him, dabbing the cold rag over his sweat covered face before finally placing it gently back across his forehead.  
"I will not leave him", she finally spoke recalling her own Papa sitting alone and without help as cold and illness robbed him of strength during the passing of his final days, "To turn away from this man, to abandon him during his time of need would be an act of unforgivable selfishness".  
"No one would know...", the Doctor quietly urged, tempting her one last time from her chosen path.  
"I would know", Cosette shook her head, firm in her decision, "The good Lord would know, and my Papa - God rest his soul - would know".  
Respectfully, Doctor Reynaud nodded, replacing his top hat and rising slowly to his feet, picking up his Doctors satchel and removing a small glass vial before closing it.  
"Then I shall mention it no more", he politely agreed as he held out the vial for Cosette to take.  
Sensing the visit was at an end Cosette too rose. She took the offered vial from the Doctors hand and look at it curiously.  
"It is a mild sedative", he explained, "if Monsieur Javert requires it, or you feel he needs a peaceful rest, please add two or three drops to his drinking water. It is not strong, but it will help ease him to sleep".  
Cosette smiled and accepted the vial.  
"Thank you Doctor Reynaud", she said as she watched him begin to move away towards the cell door, "I appreciate all you have done for him, and I do appreciate you pointing out the gravity of the commitment I have taken on through my vow to aid Javert".  
"I wish you luck", Reynaud looked once more to Javert as he neared the door, "and if he worsens, please send for me".  
"I shall", Cosette nodded, "Monsieur Loiselet will see to your payment. He holds the funds in his office".  
Doctor Reynaud leant forward in a polite bow, politely doffed his hat then turned and left the cell.  
Once more Cosette found herself alone with Javert, his gravelly breathing the only sound to be heard.  
She returned to her self appointed place, kneeling by his side and watching over him.  
Occasionally his fingers twitched, the movement visible under his blankets, reacting as if he were lost in a far off dream. Watching, she hoped desperately that he were not at the mercy of the darker thoughts which attacked him with regularity. Under the influence of Doctor Reynauds medication it would, Cosette assumed, be unlikely that Javert would wake with ease from whatever thoughts consumed his mind in his current state.  
Another twitch, and this time a faint sound. Cosette leaned nearer.  
She knew she had heard it, a faint whisper, a word so quiet she had been unable to make it out, but it had been there.  
She remained silent, wondering what thoughts or dreams were occurring in his frayed mind.  
She would not intervene by attempting to rouse him. He needed rest desperately if he were to recuperate.  
Once more she saw his lips move, a movement so slight she had almost missed it. Again the word was too faint to be deciphered, the result of whatever dream or memory were roaming his sleeping mind.  
"The Doctor is paid", a voice came from the cell door.  
Monsieur Loiselet entered carrying the stool Cosette had requested earlier. Carried in a long loop hanging from his left arm was also a long length of chain.  
"Oh you brought the stool!", Cosette gratefully observed as she watched Monsieur Loiselet approach and place it next to her, "Thank you so much".  
"It was no trouble", Monsieur Loiselet nodded indicating for Cosette to rise and sit on it herself, "you may as well be seated, besides it is not right that a lady kneel in the dirt of a place such as this".  
Cosette nodded in gratitude and seated herself as requested on the stool.  
It was a low stool, used previously by guards for polishing boots - a habit Monsieur Loiselet had initially brought with him after leaving the army.  
As the stool was low Cosette found she was able to sit while still watching very closely over Javert for any signs of change, movement or distress.  
"Don't thank me too soon", Monsieur Loiselet continued and strode over to the wall where Javert had been chained for so long, "it comes at a price. Call it a compromise".  
Cosette watched him as he worked, a cold suspicion growing within her as she saw Monsieur Loiselet place down the length of chain he carried.  
He looked at the original neck chain hanging from the wall. From his pocket he produced another sturdy padlock and fitted it through the final link which had once attached it to Javert's collar. He then placed the new chain on the ground, keeping one end of it in his hand.  
With a brief movement he placed the first link of the new chain into the padlock and fastened it, the end result joining the two sets of chains into one single chain of much longer length.  
"What are you doing?", Cosette asked protectively as she watched with a sinking feeling.  
For a moment Monsieur Loiselet failed to answer, his eyes focused on the long chain as he ran it through his hands in search of the other end.  
"This is his compromise", he finally replied as he moved towards Javert with the new longer chain in his hand, "and I know you're not going to like it, but I cannot allow him to be completely freed. It is against all rules".  
"What danger is he right now? Tell me!", Cosette protested, a genuine anger begining to smoulder within her.  
Monsieur Loiselet knelt next to Javert, the opposite side of him to Cosette and took hold of his collar, turning it roughly around the fevered mans neck until the padlock that secured it was revealed.  
"Right now he is no danger", Loiselet admitted, "but if I wait until he is recovered before chaining him again there could be a struggle, especially if he suffers another attack of his madness. I wish myself and my men to avoid that".  
"This is barbaric", Cosette objected, "chaining a sickened man!".  
Monsieur Loiselet bit his tongue, forcing himself to remain calm and not enter into a heated debate with a lady.  
"Madame...", he breathed calmly, "his wrists and ankles remain free. This chain linking his collar to the wall is significantly longer than the previous one and once he is on his feet he will be free to move about the cell. All this chain does is prevent him nearing the cell door".  
Cosette said nothing, having to compose herself so as not to say anything she may have cause to regret.  
With a metallic sound, the padlock of Javert's collar was snapped shut as Monsieur Loiselet completed his work. He was once again tethered to the wall, the dog at the mercy of his masters.  
"I'm sorry...", Monsieur Loiselet simply said and quietly left without another word, the sound of the cell door being pulled slowly shut following him.  
Cosette sharply exhaled a breath as the cell door closed, angered that a simple act of mercy could seemingly not be shown towards a sick man who was no threat to anybody.  
Again she watched, trying as best as she could to calm herself.  
With a glance Cosette noted the light entering the cell through the barred window high up the wall. The sun had come out a little and the shadows the bars cast across the floor had now changed angle with the passing of hours.  
It was Cosette now guessed, late in the afternoon. She had not envisioned spending most of the day here with Javert, having expected instead that he would cast her out and spurn her approaches.  
A conflict now began to surface within Cosette's mind.  
She needed to return hone soon or Marius would return first and worry greatly. She had explained to him her intentions this morning and, despite his reservations on the matter, Marius had relented and accepted that Cosette were determined to see this through.  
His concerns had mainly consisted of discomfort at his wife visiting a 'mad man' and if he arrived home to find her not present she knew he would jump to conclusions and assume something had happened to her. She knew fully that this would be his reaction, such was typical of Marius and it was one of the reasons she adored him so much. He was caring, gentle, tender and yet he worried about the slightest thing upsetting Cosette.  
She knew she needed to return home and explain the days events and revelations to Marius. There was a lot to discuss with him and a lot to think about.  
Yet despite this she did not want to leave Javert. As she watched him she worried that he might worsen, or that he would wake and find himself alone and too weak to reach his much needed water.  
Cosette was torn.  
It was then she heard it. Javert's head fell to one side and his body twitched once again, as if reacting to something only he could see in his unconscious mind.  
Cosette frowned, concerned and yet curious upon having finally heard Javert's weakened voice involuntarily mutter in his sleep.  
She listened closely again, remaining completely silent and wondering why of all words he would be muttering this.  
He twitched once more, his drugged and sleeping mind falling back to years, decades past.  
The words came once again.  
"Gypsy... Thieving... Gypsy..."  
Within Javert the fog of fevered memory drifted back to the late 1780's and a childhood long buried...

 

The boy sat in the corner of the cell picking dirt from his mud caked feet.  
For most of the day it had rained, turning the courtyard and all outside areas to mud.  
His Mother had returned earlier from her days labour which often varied between washing the uniforms of the guards, making convict smocks, and working away for hours preparing food for the other inmates.  
To the boy the cell was home and he knew nothing different, only that he was free to roam the prison grounds while his mother worked during the day.  
He never questioned the one big difference, the fact that while he was allowed to leave the prison grounds and roam the streets, his mother was not.  
To the boy this was normal and it was all he had ever known.  
"I need you to make yourself scarce this evening son", his mother indicated with her hand, making a gesture to shoo him to his feet from where he sat in the corner.  
The boy got to his feet, his clothing consisting of a pair of ragged trousers and a top stitched by his mother from scrap rags discarded by the women's workhouse which manufactured convict smocks.  
"But I got soaked this afternoon", the boy protested as he stood, "even my hair is still damp".  
His mother moved towards him and ran her fingers through his long dark hair which had never once been cut, working out the damp knots with a brushing action.  
"You didn't bring anything back though did you? Not even a single sous?", she admonished with a shake of her head as she brushed, her own long dark hair similar to that of her sons.  
"I tried the marketplace outside", the boy explained, "there was hardly anybody there. The weather, even half of the traders had gone home. Can't pick a pocket if there's nobody there".  
"Then you can make up for it tonight", his mother insisted as she picked up a piece of twine and some rags from the floor and discarded them into a pile of reject materials she used for sewing "you need to be out this evening before lock up".  
"Why?", the boy quizzed as he watched his mother tidying up their meagre possessions.  
"Patrice, you know him, the special guard. He is coming to our cell tonight for the usual...", his mother paused as if in thought, "...you know full well he pays for a private fortune telling occasionally and I need you out of the way. You'll only be a distraction".  
"Ah...", the boy suddenly understood.  
The boy remembered Patrice, the 'Special guard'. He remembered the arrangement now.  
After each private fortune telling in their cell, Patrice would arrange for a few extra rations of bread or meat to - by convenient accident - be allotted to their cell.  
The boy liked Patrice. He never had much to do with him personally, only passing him occasionally on his rounds when he was on duty, but if he gave them extra rations in exchange for something as simple as a fortune telling a then in the boys eyes that made him good.  
"But what if it rains?", the boy asked, reluctant to set foot outside during this cold and damp evening after the days rain.  
"Then try and stay out of the rain and see if you can pilfer something useful", his mother said briskly, urging her son to leave, "Patrice will be here soon".  
Dejected at the thought of spending an evening out in the cold the boy nodded, moving to the pile of his mothers sewing materials and picking up the small length of twine he had seen his mother discard.  
With one hand he pulled his long hair back, carefully pulling the twine around it and tying it tightly into a pony tail.  
"You should wear your hair down", his mother scolded, "you have beautiful gypsy locks".  
"I like it tied back", the boy answered resentfully, "otherwise it blows in my face in the wind and rain".  
With that he moved towards the door to their cell, looking back at his mother shaking out her hair and adjusting her clothing before he left.  
With no destination in mind he wandered from the cells to the prison courtyard, his feet feeling the chill of every step.  
It had been a long time since he had owned any footwear.  
His last pair of boots had come from a charitable donation of cast offs donated by the nearby church for the children being raised by the female inmates of the prison.  
The boots had fitted nicely and for quite some time but had worn out beyond all repair in recent weeks, much to the boys despair.  
As he walked he felt the first few spits of rain begin to fall. An evening wandering the prison grounds was not something he had in mind tonight.  
Having spent the day loitering in the wet marketplace unsuccessfully lying in wait for a vulnerable pocket to pick, all the boy had wanted to do was curl up in the dry and go to sleep, preferably in his mothers arms with her shawl wrapped around them both for warmth.  
The rain began to intensify, the spits of rain fast becoming a heavy shower.  
Cold and wet, the boy looked around, first left and then right in search of shelter.  
Across the courtyard an open door caught his eye. Momentarily he hesitated, fully understanding that this small building before him was one of the few inside the prison grounds that was off limits to him - the guards mess room.  
He moved forward with caution, his cold and wet feet heading towards the forbidden doorway.  
Within moments he was there, seemingly unseen by anybody.  
He would not enter, he decided, he would stand just within the doorway to shelter until the rain passed.  
The rain continued unabated as he stood, lashing down and forming puddles throughout the courtyard.  
Finally the boy turned around, looking into the guards mess room with curiosity. He had never seen in this room before.  
It was lit dimly by candles flickering on a table that was located in the centre of the room.  
Upon the table were several cups, a jug of water and some paperwork.  
Several metal hooks were fixed to the wall on the far side of the room from which hung the coats of several guards.  
The boy eyed them with keen interest remembering his mother scolding him for his failure to bring back anything of use during the afternoon.  
He took a single step into the room, cautiously looking around to confirm to himself that nobody was present, then another step, eyes fixed on the tempting coats.  
Several steps later he found himself stood in front of the coats, a sense of heightened alert coursing through his body at the thought of stealing not from a passer by in the street but an actual guard of the prison.  
He reached into the pocket of the first coat and felt around with his fingers.  
With disappointment he removed his hand. Nothing, the pocket was empty.  
He moved to the next coat and tried again.  
His hand felt something metal, "Coins!", he beamed proudly.  
Once more removing his hand he examined his findings. It added up to just a few sous, but it was money.  
He relaxed somewhat, breathing out in the assurance that his mother would be pleased with him, that it would make up for his earlier failure.  
If he could keep this up and find some more he would be able to go to the market and buy some decent quality food to bring back and supplement the substandard prison rations their little family survived on.  
Carefully he moved the money to his trouser pocket and moved on to the next coat with increased confidence.  
Once more he dipped his hand in, this time feeling a single much thicker coin.  
He removed it with anticipation and his mouth fell open as he looked upon his find.  
"A five Franc coin!", he beamed in disbelief.  
He had seen one before, exchanged in the market, but had never been able to get close enough to hold or even steal one.  
To the boy a five Franc coin was the equivalent of winning a jackpot and it needed to be taken good care of.  
His mother had long ago stitched an inner pocket to the inside of his trousers so that, in the event of the boy having his pockets searched by a guard or policeman, nothing untoward would be found.  
He placed the coin into the secret pocket and moved on to the next coat, barely able to imagine how pleased his mother would be when he returned with such a haul.  
It was then that his confidence was shattered by a tremendous crash echoing suddenly around the room like thunder, causing the boy to jump in fright.  
He spun around in terror, his heart racing as his eyes met those of the guard who had entered unseen.  
A truncheon lay on the table where the guard had struck it hard to disturb the small intruder.  
"Boy!", the guard shouted as he stepped rapidly forwards, "What in the name if all that's Holy do you think you are doing!?".  
The boy was rooted to the spot, quaking with fear.  
"I... I...", he stammered, looking all around for an exit. There was no exit, only the door through which he had entered which the guard was obstructing.  
"You're coming to the Sergeant's office, that's what you're doing!", the guard barked with eyes of sheer anger, "Thieving little gypsy!".  
The guard reached out with a strong hand, roughly grabbing the boys pony tail. He then marched briskly towards the mess room door using the pony tail to forcibly haul the boy along next to him, forcing him forwards each time his steps fell out of line.  
The Sergeant's office was a short walk beyond the courtyard, away from the cells and part of a building of a more administrative nature.  
The guard dragged his small prisoner into the main building and knocked on the first door on the left.  
"Come!", a stern voice called from behind it.  
The guard opened the door, the boy raising his hands to his Pony tail in a last desperate struggle to free his hair from the iron grin that trapped him.  
The door swung open and the guard stepped in, dragging the boy into the office with a forceful jerk of his arm.  
"Sergeant, I apologise for the disturbance at this hour", the guard bowed his head briefly in respect and removed his hat with with other hand, "but this boy has been caught thieving from guards property in the courtyard mess room".  
The sergeant slowly rose to his feet from where he sat, placing his hands firmly on the desk and looking down upon the boy stood before him in a manner that was far beyond intimidating.  
The boy trembled as he looked at the Sergeant. He was tall, with a stern moustache, wearing a dark grey uniform with a large belt.  
Placed on a shelf just behind him sat a large black hat, a shako, adorned with a white pompom, a red white and blue rosette and a brass plate in the image of an eagle. At the bottom it bore a fine golden chin strap and next to it sat a pair of black leather gloves.  
"He's the son of one of the women prisoners", the guard added as he watched the Sergeant look the boy over.  
"Yes, the gypsy whore's little thug", the Sergeant nodded in recognition staring at the boy, "Javert isn't it?".  
The boy was silent, eyes locked straight ahead and visibly attempting to conceal just how much he was trembling.  
"Answer when you are spoken to boy!", the Sergeant suddenly shouted and banged his fist hard on the desk in anger.  
The boy jumped in response, his eyes wide in shock.  
"Go on then answer me, are you or are you not the gypsy whore's son, Javert?", the Sergeant asked, this time his voice lower but remaining full of malice.  
"Yes Monsieur...", the boy answered, "...Javert".  
Slowly the Sergeant moved from where he stood, striding slowly around the desk and halting in front of the boy.  
"But...", Javert spoke, looking up to the Sergeant and then stopping immediately, averting his eyes downward.  
"You wish to add something boy?", the Sergeant demanded, "Well out with it!".  
Javert paused, biting his lip nervously before speaking.  
"But my mother is not a whore", he corrected, "she's a fortune teller."  
Despite his young age, Javert knew the meaning of the word whore, it was impossible not to know words such as this in the world he inhabited.  
"Oh a 'fortune teller', is that what it's called now?", the Sergeant mocked.  
Javert felt strange. He knew he was in a great deal of trouble and he feared the Sergeant greatly but he felt tremendous offence and hurt at the insulting insinuation being laid at his mother.  
"She does readings for people, prisoners, sometimes even guards", Javert defended, "she gives them tarot readings, palm readings...".  
"She gives them something alright", the Sergeant abruptly cut Javert off mid sentence.  
The guard still holding him securely by his pony tail let out a deep laugh at the Sergeants words.  
Javert gritted his teeth, his emotions a mixture of fear at the Sergeant and both anger and sadness at the offensive slurs directed at his mother.  
"Oh we know she has an arrangement with someone amongst our men", the Sergeant revealed, "and we will find out who eventually".  
Javert said nothing, staring again straight ahead to the back wall of the office. He knew this was a tactic, the Sergeant applying pressure to force Javert into revealing just which guard gave them extra in exchange for readings and fortune tellings, but it would not work, he was young not stupid.  
He would not betray Patrice. The extra rations Patrice arranged always appeared, from where he did not know, but they always appeared as promised. To reveal his identity over something as trivial as a mere tarot or palm reading session just to save himself a punishment would be unfair.  
"I know your mothers record Javert. I am familiar with the crimes of all who reside here. Your mother was giving readings in a tent late one night at a traveling fair when a man thought to be wealthy requested a reading...".  
Javert listened, never having heard anything of the sort before.  
"The man had his reading and being quite satisfied he paid up and began to leave", the Sergeants story continued.  
"But that's what she does Monsieur" Javert attempted to explain, an overwhelming urge growing within him to defend his mother and explain that their ways were harmless.  
"Your father murdered the man as he left".  
Javert's young heart skipped a beat as the Sergeant spoke his words. Initially the young boy thought he had misheard the Sergeant, taking a moment for his mind to relay the words over once more - "Your father murdered the man as he left".  
"I see you were not aware of this", the Sergeant observed as he watched the boy attempt to hide the stunned expression his face had briefly displayed, "Your father slit the mans throat as he left. Your parents were caught thieving valuables and money from this wealthy mans body. It would seem they had been preoccupied with their victim and unaware of the approaching police patrol. It was a bloody crime and your parents were quite literally caught red handed, blood red".  
Composing himself Javert stood up straight and defiant, shaking his head as he refused to accept the words he had just heard.  
"I never met my father", the boy spoke once more looking straight ahead, "my mother is a fortune teller... My mother is a fortune teller...".  
Javert was conscious of the Sergeant watching him for a reaction. He fought to remain calm, to bury the anger he felt at these cruel lies spoken about the father he never knew and the mother who had raised him with so little.  
He would not give them the satisfaction, it was lies, all lies, every word of it.  
"Your father is serving life in the galleys for murder. Life in the galleys is a slow death sentence and I suspect that after seven years your father is almost certainly dead", the Sergeant continued his point, "Your mother is seven years into a twenty five year sentence as an accomplice to murder".  
Javert stood stock still. This could not be true. If this story were true why had he never been told, why had he grown up not knowing anything of it?  
Why would his mother have lied to him about why they lived in a prison?  
No. Javert discarded these thoughts, casting them aside and mentally chastising himself for even entertaining the possibility that such accusations might be true.  
It was clear to him that the Sergeant was trying to plant a seed of doubt within his mind and he would not fall for it.  
"You are not convinced, it is of no consequence", the Sergeant noted, "what is of consequence is what happens to you now Javert".  
Both Javert and the Sergeant cast their eyes to the stolen money on the desk.  
"You have stolen from my men and you will be punished", the Sergeant announced.  
Javert's body tensed, awaiting whatever was to come next.  
"There are three ways in which I can deal with this", the Sergeant spoke and slowly began to pace the room as if in thought.  
"Firstly, you are your mothers responsibility while here. I can return you to her cell and place her solitary for two weeks for failing to control her wayward son...".  
Javert's heart sank at the very thought. He had stolen the money specifically for his mother to make up for his earlier failure. For her to be punished for his misdeed when he had hoped the money could be used to buy them extra food made him feel sick.  
"Secondly, I could turn you over to the guards who's mess room you robbed. You can be absolutely assured that they will take you behind the barracks and deliver a thrashing the likes of which you have never imagined..."  
Javert's stomach churned in terror. He had once seen guards dealing with a raging male prisoner who had assaulted and knocked out one of their own.  
The convict had been subdued with riffle butts, truncheons and heavy kicks before the melee had been broken up. The man had been a bloodied mess as he had been dragged away to solitary.  
"Or thirdly, I can deal with you myself. You will be punished, indeed Javert you need a deterrent, but although I am harsh I am also fair.".  
The three possibilities ran riot through Javert's mind. He couldn't allow his mother to suffer for something he had done for her, but the guards would beat him to a bloody pulp, and the Sergeant terrified him.  
"You are at a crossroads Javert", the Sergeant explained, "Your loyalty to your mother is honourable, an admirable trait in a young boy, yet you have within you the makings of a terrible thug. Javert if you continue on this path then it's the chain gang or galleys for you".  
Javert remained still, taking in the words whilst still pondering the three terrible possibilities and which of them was to happen.  
"Or you can turn away from the life of thieving your mother has set you on. I know you don't believe a word I have spoken about her but...", the Sergeant paused looking the boy in the eyes, "...should anything happen to make you reconsider that way of life I want you to come to this office and find me".  
Javert still remained silent.  
"Now which is it to be? Solitary for your mother, hand you over to the guards, or take care of you myself?", the Sergeant barked briskly, an answer clearly required immediately.  
Javert's young mind scrambled to think, his mind fighting the confusion caused by the Sergeants words, one moment slandering his mother and the next complimenting his sense of loyalty.  
"You!", Javert suddenly heard himself cry, "You Monsieur".  
The Sergeant nodded slowly as if sensing the correct choice had been made.  
"A wise decision, and a selfless act to save your mother", the Sergeant noted, "you posses qualities you never knew you had, there may be hope for you yet boy".  
Javert tensed, waiting for whatever was to come next and trying his hardest not to show fear in front of an enemy.  
"Guard", the Sergeant spoke up in the direction of the man still stood behind Javert, "remove your belt and pass it to me, I believe it will suffice".  
Javert held his head up high, his pulse racing upon hearing the Sergeants order. He would not show fear, he must not show fear, he could not show fear.  
"Boy... Javert", the Sergeant turned to address him much more formally taking the belt as it was handed to him, "bend over and put your hands on the desk".  
Javert stepped forward, doing exactly as ordered. He closed his eyes tight and gritted his teeth as he heard the footsteps of the Sergeant move alongside him.  
It was over in no less than two minutes, after which the boy had been promptly dispatched from the building and told to return to his mothers cell.  
"The matter is now closed", had been the Sergeants final words as he had left.  
Every slow step Javert took was agony.  
The rain had subsided and his feet squelched in the mud as he attempted to walk, his body shaking from both pain and shock.  
He moved nearer to the walls as he reached the courtyard, having to put a hand to the wall to steady himself.  
He had held back during his punishment but now alone, streams of tears ran down his face as he quietly sobbed from the pain every single step caused him.  
The Sergeant had administered a dozen hard lashes of the belt across Javert's buttocks and the boy now struggled to place one foot in front of the other to walk.  
After stopping briefly to compose himself he slowly limped on, hoping the pain would subside. It did not, the stinging of his backside caused him to whimper like a wounded dog with every step.  
How would he hide this from his mother, he wondered.  
If she found out what had happened she would scold him for drawing attention to them.  
As he limped on at his slow pace he concluded that he would have to sleep on his front tonight, it was unlikely he would be able to do so much as sit down for at least a day or two, such had been the ferocity of the Sergeants strikes.  
Finally he reached the side of the courtyard which lead to their cell, his home.  
He would have to make up a story, say that he fell climbing a wall to explain his limping. His mother need not see the marks inevitably left across his buttocks.  
In the distance he saw the door to their cell. From beneath the tears a smile began to creep across the boys face.  
Something he had forgotten about was now creeping back into his mind.  
He stopped, the pain still throbbing tremendously as he reached inside his trousers to the hidden inner pocket.  
The five Franc coin was still there. He had forgotten it the moment the guard had discovered him.  
His smile became a smirk and he nodded to himself through his tear stained face, satisfied that after having been forced to listen to such malicious and hurtful lies being spoken about his mother, and having endured the belt, he had now beaten the system.  
The five Franc coin was still there and his mother would be pleased. She might even let him treat himself to some small confectionary from the market if change remained after buying food.  
It felt to the boy that the coin itself was compensation. To hear such lies spoken against his mother had been a terribly hurtful thing for him to bare.  
His mother was a fortune teller and nothing more. They lived in a prison because the world didn't like gypsies, that was all. There was nothing more to it.  
Another tremendous sting took his attention and he slowed his pace, the terrible pain a constant reminder of his punishment just as it had been intended to be.  
He wanted nothing more than to ease himself down onto the floor of their cell and go to sleep, he wanted his mothers shawl and a little warmth.  
A few more steps from his dreadfully pained body and he would be there.  
His mothers reaction to the coin would make up for all that had occurred this evening.  
One pained step at a time and Javert neared the cell door.  
It was pulled shut but unlocked.  
Suddenly he paused, his keen ears having heard something.  
He listened again from outside the door.  
It was his mothers voice but in a way he had never heard it before.  
It came again, a moan.  
Javert's nerves jumped, assuming that if his mother were making a moaning sound she must be ill.  
Gently he pulled the cell door open just a little, enough for him to look through the gap with one eye.  
It was then his mouth fell open, had he been holding the five franc coin at that moment he would have dropped it.  
A shockwave surged through Javert's body, feeling as if his very being had just shattered, cracked and was about to crumble to pieces.  
Before his very eyes Patrice had his mother in the corner of the cell up against the wall.  
Patrice's trousers were around his ankles, his hat and boots discarded on the floor and his mothers top and skirt lying nearby. Patrice's tunic and shirt lay near the door in a crumpled heap.  
Javert watched as his mothers nails raked up and down Patrice's back as the guard jerked increasingly hard up against her with increasing ferocity, the pair of them moaning with excitement at every action.  
Finally Patrice's moans culminated in a sound that was akin to a roar as he gave one last jerk, his mother too crying out in a way Javert had never heard from anyone before.  
Javert stood there unseen, gritting his teeth tightly like a wolf baring it's fangs, seething anger pulsing through his blood like liquid fire.  
The couple before him moved, sliding down the wall and onto the floor of the cell, his mother onto her back and Patrice atop, his hand eagerly fondling a breast.  
"Won't the boy be back soon?", Patrice whispered almost breathless.  
"I sent him packing for the evening", his mother breathed enjoying the touch of the guard, "he won't bother us".  
Patrice lowered himself slowly forward, placing a finger before Javert's mothers lips, a finger she keenly took into her mouth seductively whilst never taking her eyes from Patrice's own eyes.  
"Then you know what I like", Patrice urged, licking his lips in excitement at the prospect as his finger was sucked.  
"You know that costs extra", his mother whispered gently pulling the finger from her mouth as if to deny Patrice that which he so desperately wanted.  
"I'll pay, by God woman I'll pay", Patrice nodded quickly, climbing off Javert's mother, rising naked to his feet and pulling the woman to her knees before him.  
Javert closed his eyes tight and turned away.  
He had both seen and heard much more than enough.  
The very thought that he had been "sent packing" out of the cell that was his home so his mother could engage in this secret filth with Patrice stabbed at him like a sharp blade.  
The fire coursing through his veins intensified as he thought, his hands becoming fists and his entire body shaking with absolute unbridled fury.  
A realisation dawned on Javert - while he had being caught stealing, while he had fiercely and wholeheartedly defended his mother from allegations that sickened him, his mother had at the very same time had been obliging Patrice with whatever gratification he desired from her body, whilst just across the yard her son was being belted for the theft of just a few sous.  
It was as if he could explode at that very moment.  
Slowly he turned, the agonising pain from his stinging backside reminding him of everything said and done that evening.  
He felt as if a veil of falsehood had suddenly been lifted from his eyes, his neatly settled world rocked to its foundation by the revealing of a truth so hideous it made him almost vomit.  
Every word the Sergeant had spoken, every single word of it had been true.  
His mother was a whore, selling her body to the whims of any man with the money to pay.  
His blood boiled.  
If the whore allegations were true, Javert concluded, then the story of the wealthy man's murder must be also be true. A man had died gruesomely just so his parents could make off with whatever wealth he carried. He again fought a feeling of nausea as this truth began to settle upon his young soul.  
Slowly he limped away from the cell, wincing from the sharp pain caused by every step. He wanted to run, to get as far away as possible but the slowest of steps was all his hurting body would allow him.  
His slow pace eventually returned him to where all this had begun across the courtyard.  
The door to the guards mess room was still ajar and once more there was nobody about.  
With pain and a whimper he wiped his muddy feet outside the door and stepped inside.  
Briskly he reached into the hidden pocket of his trousers, removing the five Franc coin he had earlier been so proud of stealing.  
Now he wanted nothing more than to be rid of it.  
Looking up he identified the coat hanging from the third hook as the one he had stolen the coin from.  
"Hardworking" and "honest" were the words Javert recalled the Sergeant using to describe his men, men who had earned this money, money that he had stolen without a second thought.  
He wondered, had his parents given the wealthy man a second thought as he was murdered at their hands?  
Quickly Javert placed the coin back into the pocket.  
It was an act that felt almost cleansing, washing away his eagerness to steal for his mothers praise.  
His eagerness was gone.  
Slowly he limped back to the door, not caring this time if a guard caught him. They could do no worse to him tonight than his mother already had.  
Unsteady on his feet he limped away from the mess room, wiping his tears with the back of his hand, his cold wet nose sniffling as he staggered.  
His thoughts dug deep as he limped, an overwhelming desire rose within him to wash away all links with his parents and his thieving gypsy blood.  
He was unsure of quite what to do and continued to hobble through the squelching mud until he reached the prison gates.  
Although the hour was getting late there were no restrictions on Javert himself leaving the prison.  
Seeing him approach, the bored looking guard stationed on duty at the entrance opened the heavy gate wooden, allowing the boy to pass through.  
"It's late boy", the guard observed as he watched Javert head out into the street, "go careful out there".  
Javert said nothing, lost in his whirling thoughts as he wished with all his heart that what he had seen wasn't true.  
"Ignorant gypsy...", he heard the guard mutter at his failure to reply as the gate was heaved shut behind him.  
He felt lost and for the first time, so alone.  
So many thoughts churned through his mind as he took slow painful steps through the dark streets. He did not wish to return to his mother, not now, not now he knew the truth, all of the truth.  
He could live on the streets like the gamin and survive reasonably well by pickpocketing, but no...  
The thought of depriving honest people of the money they worked hard for now repulsed him. To do so would be to use the skills his mother had taught him and he would inevitably grow to become just like his parents.  
He stopped, breathless and finally unable to take another step forward due to the pain consuming his young body both physically and emotionally, and looked down as he realised that the Sergeant was right.  
He was indeed at a crossroads, if he continued in his parents footsteps he would indeed find himself in the chain gang or galleys by the time he became a man. He shook his head at the thought, remembering the battered state of the violent convict he saw the guards subdue recently.  
He didn't want to become like that, those people were scum, filthy robbing, murdering scum.  
Finally Javert looked up, his tear filled eyes staring up at the stars that shone bright in this clear night as another possibility dawned on him.  
He needed to go away, and he needed to think.

It was a week later when the half starved boy returned to the prison, the guards obligingly opening the gate for him to stumble through.  
His limp had finally gone but he was weak through hunger.  
Unusually the boy did not head for the usual destination of his mothers cell, instead heading in the direction of the administrative building the other side of the courtyard which housed the Sergeants office.  
Within an hour of Javert's return Patrice was summoned to the Sergeant's office and dismissed on the spot.  
Rumour quickly spread through the prison that it was due to some sort of impropriety with female inmates and theft of rations intended for sick prisoners in the infirmary. According to the prison gossips the only thing that saved Patrice from being arrested was his long and distinguished record.  
Shortly after this a boy took up residence in the barn next to the stables, sleeping on the warm bales of hay stored there for the horses.  
The boy earned his keep polishing the guards boots in exchange for a few sous, a job he learned to perform to an extremely high standard, not returning a single boot until he could almost see his own reflection in it.  
After some months he had earned the respect of the guards and was often invited to eat with them in the same mess room he had robbed almost a year earlier.  
Slowly he learned to read and write, coached by several guards as he ate with them.  
Eventually a space was cleared and he was instructed to move from the barn and into the guards barracks.  
The boy began to fill out, growing stronger and looking far healthier, his hair always tied neatly back in a long pony tail and his clothing improved with the honest money he saved.  
It was shortly after this that an outbreak of sickness many feared to be cholera struck down the a large number of the prison population.  
One of the many to die during outbreak was the boys mother.  
Even the Sergeant had been surprised at how few tears the boy had shed before excusing himself from the Sergeants presence and returning to his work.  
As the years passed this loner of a boy cared little for the world outside, educating himself in the rules and regulations of the prison system and often shadowing the guards as they worked, all the while making a mental note of routines, problems, solutions and methods.  
Finally the day came when the ageing Sergeant was to retire, his final act being to summon the boy, now a solitary yet polite and respectful young man, to his office.  
His parting gesture to the young man was to hand over a letter of recommendation, insisting that the boy fulfil his obvious ambition and apply to become a prison guard.  
"You have done well boy. Over the years I have watched you grow from a whelp who blindly does the bidding of others to the young man of great potential I see stood before me now. You are strong, hard working and one of the most honest young men I have ever met. I will admit I shall miss this place, but you will make a fine prison guard. Just remember... Be harsh, be firm, but also be fair. Never take advantage, treat all equally and punish only those who require it.  
Follow these rules to the letter and the convicts you deal with will come to both fear and respect the name of Javert".


	6. The stars are black and cold.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terribly weak and still suffering from his illness Javert has little choice but to place his trust in Cosette and allow the daughter of Valjean to gently nurse him by day...
> 
> By night the demons of the mind force a powerful return causing Javert to suffer a devastating attack of delusional madness on a scale he has never experienced before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has followed along with this story, you all keep me going with your comments and encouragement.
> 
> As usual to any new readers I once again remind you that this story uses elements of both stage and book Les Mis and that I visualise the Javert of this fic as being that of the great Philip Quast.
> 
> Thank you as ever to Laura and Chrissy-24601 for help, advice and test piloting.

Broken Man - Chapter 6  
"The stars are black and cold"

The sound had been audible as it echoed down the passageway and caused Cosette to quicken her step and hurry towards the cell to which she found herself returning.  
It was now early morning and Cosette, having returned to the asylum was making her way back towards the dire cell which constantly housed Javert. As usual she walked with her basket in hand, striding along with her heart focused on her task at hand - the welfare of Javert.  
The previous night she had been reluctant to return home, concerned that Javert may worsen or need assistance in some form in her absence. Eventually she had relented to the advice of Monsieur Loiselet, advice that had pointed out how she would be of no use to Javert if she were exhausted.  
Monsieur Loiselet had reassured her that the night guards would be instructed to check on Javert at regular intervals and that if there was a problem he would be assisted and, if necessary, the Doctor summoned.  
Marius had indeed been reassured at seeing his wife return home to him safely. He had as she expected arrived home shortly before her and had begun to worry, his mind conjuring all manor of fates that may have befallen his wife at this asylum she had insisted on returning to. Only Nicolette of their house staff had succeeded in calming the young man, reassuring him that someone would have been sent to inform them if something terrible had occurred.  
Nicolette had compared Cosette's "mission of mercy" at the asylum to that of her attachment to the little redbreast she would watch from her window in the recent past. She had watched it fondly day after day, taking great pleasure in observing its ways until the day came when a cat devoured it. Cosette had been terribly upset at the little birds demise, wishing she had been able to do something to protect it. To the fearful Marius Nicolette had used this as an example of Cosette's desire to help others who could not help them self, like the bird unable to flee the cat.  
Despite having returned home Cosette had failed to sleep soundly, her thoughts constantly returning to Javert, worrying that he may be breathless from his cough or that his 'madness' was tormenting him as he slept fevered under his blankets.  
Again she heard it clearly, the dirty sound of an elongated cough ringing out from the cell at the end of the dark passageway.  
She knew from the haggard raspy voice that it was Javert.  
Her pace quickened, footsteps echoing until she reached the cell just moments later.  
The iron door had been left closed but unlocked to enable the night guards to carry out their checks on the cells occupant. The long chain newly attached to his collar leashed his long length of chain securely to the far wall whilst giving him freedom to move around most of the cell, but lacked length enough for him to reach the door. This easing of the restrictions had themselves made little difference to the man himself who had fallen so ill in recent days that he could barely stand.  
Placing her hands on the hefty door, it's metal cold to her touch, Cosette gave it a push. It's old hinges creaked in response as it swung slowly open.  
Cosette stepped into the cell once more, feeling unhappily familiar with the misery permeating this cold stone room.  
The light of the morning lit the cell poorly as usual from the tiny window.  
The portion of light that was permitted to enter illuminated the cell just enough to reveal Javert.  
Having spent a great portion of the night worrying about his condition Cosette's heart leapt upon seeing him.  
He was awake.  
His blankets lay discarded as if hurled to one side and he sat crumpled weakly, leaning side on against the far wall. His new neck chain sprawled in a metal heap on the floor of the cell as it channelled it's path from the securing point on the wall, it's length running downward then looping back across the stone floor marking the path Javert had taken from the blankets before the cold chain snaked it's way up Javert's back, held fast where it was fixed to his collar.  
It was as if a metal snake made from chain had followed him across the cell.  
Javert's posture was weak, beaten down like that of the starving beggars often seen sat in the streets, his shoulders slumped low and his head hung bowed from lack of strength.  
Cosette rushed towards him, concluding upon noticing the trail of crumpled blankets that Javert must have woken in a state of agitation and crawled with what little strength he possessed from his makeshift bed to where he now sat.  
Quickly she placed her basket down and knelt before him, concern rushing through her like a fast moving rapid as she watched him leaning with the right side of his exhausted body against the wall.  
"Javert, oh my goodness, are you alright?", Cosette asked with apprehension as she reached out quickly, placing the back of her small hand once again against his forehead. She wanted to scoop him up, deliver him back to his blankets immediately, instruct him to rest and make it all better with the simple wave of a hand.  
With little remaining strength Javert looked silently up, his good eye meeting Cosette's eyes and observing her expression of anxious surprise.  
"Your fever...", she observed as her hand touched his forehead, "Your temperate has lowered but you feel so clammy".  
Only the day before Javert had endured an ever increasing temperature as his fever took hold, sweating ever more profusely as the day had worn on. Now he was cool, his temperature having dropped dramatically from the inferno he had suffered the previous day.  
Despite his drop in temperature Cosette felt no reassurance, the clamminess of his forehead, his lack of colour and his look of total exhaustion gave her cause to doubt his recovery.  
It took the exhausted shadow of a man some moments to form a reply.  
"The fever... I woke during the night...", Javert whispered, his weakened husky voice failing after having been ravaged terribly by both his cough and his diminished strength.  
Cosette look around, sighting the object she required and then rose to her feet in urgency. She took a step back then bent down to retrieve Javert's cup of drinking water.  
Returning to her place once more she knelt again before him, the cup held in her hands.  
Javert's legs lay tucked up beside him, his arm, shoulder and head resting against the cold stone wall as if it were all that held him up.  
His body remained hunched forwards, his hands placed firmly on the ground to support him in his weakened state. In a different setting his very posture would easily have seen him mistaken for a man so inebriated he could no longer stand.  
"The guards checked on you? During the night?", Cosette asked, wishing confirmation that the desperately important help that had been promised had materialised.  
A slow shake of Javert's aching head answered her question, "I have seen nobody...".  
Cosette's displeasure at hearing this showed clearly on her face, angered that Javert could have been lying in a deteriorating state, or worse even, and nobody would have known until morning.  
Burying her obvious anger and focusing on Javert she lifted the cup of water, gesturing for him to take it and drink as Doctor Reynaud had recommended during his visit.  
Javert raised a hand in response to the offered liquid, his other hand remaining on the floor assisting him in the task of remaining upright.  
His dirty, blackened fingers wrapped around the cup, his hand shaking with effort as he took the full cup causing drops of the water to splash down the side and onto the floor as he struggled to raise it.  
He couldn't.  
Cosette witnessed Javert frown sharply in clear irritation at his inability to help himself.  
His shaking hand lowered the cup in defeat, his remaining pride unwilling to allow a witness watch him drop the water he so desperately desired down himself like an invalid.  
Before the cup could reach the floor two hands, much smaller than his own, reached out and took hold of it, wrapping their fingers around both the cup and his own hand which held it.  
Javert looked, watching closely as Cosette leant forward and took the weight of the cup in her own hands as he himself still held it. The tremors of Javert's shaking reverberated into Cosette's own hands at this physical contact, enabling her to feel the effort it took just for Javert to retain hold of the cup.  
He said nothing and Cosette recognised the expression.  
She was slowly beginning to understand Javert, to read his expressions during the times when his words said nothing.  
She had seen this expression when she had assisted him with the painful lock on his collar, when she had first wrapped a blanket around his cold body and when she had first helped him to drink as he fell ill.  
It was an expression that communicated both a need for help, and thorough shame at both accepting and receiving it. It was the look of the caged wild animal, broken and forced to accept that it was no longer in control - the lion that must rely on its keeper if it is to survive.  
Some would call it pride, Cosette knew it only as Javert.  
With care she raised the cup, along with his hand still holding it, and brought it to his lips. Allowing him to keep a hold on the cup, even though it were she who was lifting it, enabled him to retain a speck of dignity, an illusion that he still had some control despite both understanding the contrary.  
His good eye closed slowly in relief as he drank, swallowing the cool water down rapidly like a man dying of thirst in a desert, trying to consume as much as he possibly could as fast as he could.  
His parched throat slowly became soothed as he drank desperately, several drops dribbling down his chin and into his beard.  
"Not so fast", Cosette quietly urged in concern as she witnessed this man drink so desperately, "don't overdo it".  
Deciding he had drunk a reasonable amount Cosette pulled the cup gently away, releasing Javert's hand from his weak grasp on it.  
He was reluctant to let go, his body desiring all the water but unable to resist the cup being pulled away his hand dropped weakly to the floor and he again looked to her.  
"I find this... indignity...", he paused, his fractured voice returning slightly with the refreshment of water, "...shameful".  
Cosette sat back and shook her head with genuine disagreement. In her mind she could find no shame in a sick man being ministered to.  
"There is no indignity or any shame", she disagreed in her fullest honesty, "Javert you are unwell, very unwell and fighting this illness is taking all of your strength".  
Cosette's point was interrupted by Javert's cough. He hunched over further has he coughed, his hand again rubbing his rag covered chest in attempt to sooth it.  
"That cough is still bad, but it sounds less harsh", Cosette observed as she listened, noting that his breath was no longer quite as scratchy sounding as it had been before his fever. The cough still sounded deeply unpleasant but he no longer seemed robbed of breath as badly as previous.  
"I believe the illness has met it's match", Javert confirmed in full awareness of how hard his body was fighting, his weakened hand still held to his aching chest.  
"When did you wake?", Cosette enquired, curious to know how long he had sat like this.  
"During the night... Terribly hot...sweating...delirious", he recalled, "I only vaguely recall dragging myself over here... Cooler...".  
"The guards were supposed to check on you", Cosette repeated this fact, shaking her head in disapproval, "they should have helped you, not left you to crawl across the floor in your condition".  
Javert was silent where he sat, watching his ally with sapped strength, his illness having drained him of all energy and left him feeling utterly hollow.  
Cosette's expression softened once more as she focused her attention again on Javert as he sat before her, his appearance that of a man who had been totally worn out by both his long term circumstances and his illness.  
"How do you feel?", she asked, "and I mean really, how do you feel?".  
Javert waited for his strength to muster, his good eye slowly blinking and his long hair falling across his face. He again leant his head against the wall, postures of slumping and leaning having been entirely unknown to this man of rigidity until his confinement.  
"My head is pounding", he confessed, speaking slowly as if even verbal communication was a tremendous effort, "my throat is dry, sore, and my chest aches with every breath... My strength is gone...".  
His voice broke off as his voice again died out, failing him on the last couple of words which became nothing but a rasping whisper.  
Cosette reached forward again, her petit fingers pushing back the long hair which had fallen forwards obscuring his face. Gently she tucked his hair behind his ear and looked at him, observing how dry and cracked his lips were.  
"Doctor Reynaud said you are to drink lots of water", Cosette instructed and reached once more for his cup. This time she did not wait for him to reach up and try to grasp it, knowing full well that he did not possess the strength to hold it.  
Carefully she placed the cup to his cracked lips, observing as his expression sank to one of dire defeat at having to be nursed in such a fashion.  
"Drink...", Cosette urged in a gentle voice, seeing and understanding his discomfort, "...please?".  
Javert hesitated as if unsure then holding her gaze he slowly and cautiously parted his lips, allowing Cosette to tilt the cup to such an angle as to allow him to drink.  
With each eager swallow he still held her gaze, never taking his good eye from her, constantly watching for even the slightest hint of amusement at his vulnerability. He knew within that none would come, that she would not mock, but a wolf when wounded will regard even the most innocent of creatures with caution for fear of attack.  
He eagerly swallowed several more mouthfuls of water before Cosette gently pulled the cup away empty.  
Javert breathed out with a gasp, finally breaking his guarded stare. It felt as if each drink of the refreshing water aided in the slow washing away of illness, even if the affect were only temporary it was still welcome none the less.  
He exhaled slowly, unable anymore to hide the true extent of his weakness and simply sat limply, held upright only by the wall he leant against. Had the wall not been there Javert would have collapsed immediately to the stone floor.  
He held the appearance of a man who had won a hard fought battle at great cost, but who's war was far from over.  
Cosette observed this pitiful sight wishing desperately that she could do something to make it all stop. Javert had been in a poor state when she had first met him, dirty, cold and showing the initial signs of illness, but she now saw how low and withered the illness had left him. She could only hope he had it within him to fight on.  
His strength had been lacking when he had begun to fall ill and now the illness was facing a fight it had left him with nothing.  
"You need food to get strong", Cosette declared deciding that something had to be done.  
Javert remained motionless, only his good eye moving to look at her as the right side of his head rested against the wall.  
Despite being ice cold in colour his eyes, even with one beaten shut, were extremely expressive and seemed able to convey his thoughts with far more clarity than anything he said verbally.  
Cosette looked deep into his eye now, reading accurately his despair at having been left so utterly degraded and helpless.  
She leaned forward, giving his shoulder a gentle yet reassuring squeeze as she rose to her feet and stood.  
"I will be back in a few minutes", she assured softly, "I have food, proper food for you, not this stale bread they give you".  
Javert did not react, his hazy mind hearing the words but failing to process them into coherent meaning.  
During the minutes Cosette was gone Javert did not move once except to allow his good eye to slowly close, blotting out his wretched world in an attempt to sooth the gnawing pain of his pounding head.  
After several silent minutes he heard Cosette return, her footsteps distinctive and light compared to the heavy boots of the guards or Monsieur Loiselet. His eye eased open inquisitively as his keen sense of smell detected a scent unusual to his surroundings.  
He saw Cosette return to her previous place knelt before him, a small wooden bowl in her hand with a wooden spoon protruding from it. It's contents were of a creamy appearance with steam rising from the bowl.  
"Porridge", Cosette announced and held out the bowl while gesturing for him to take a look, "You need proper food to regain your strength, strength you need to fight on. I brought this from home for you and mixed it up over the guardroom stove".  
Involuntarily Javert took a small sniff, the scent of decent food being something he had not encountered in his almost two years in this place.  
His body welcomed the scent of the highly desired food and he felt his mouth water at the very sight of it.  
He then looked down as if casting the thought aside, his depleted strength having left him too weak to eat. Despite how much his empty stomach pleaded with him to eat he knew his trembling arms, weakened by illness that had left him so frail, could not competently lift a spoon of food.  
If he could not so much as lift a cup of water to his lips, what hope was there of food?  
He looked away dispirited, the food being a temptation he was in no fit state to accept despite how greatly he desired it.  
He would have to wait to eat until after Cosette had left, wait for the arrival of the boy who delivered the poor bread to the cells. Instead of Cosette's enticing porridge he would have to make do with his official ration, lower himself to the floor and pass the bread to his mouth with ease and without onlooker. It was an utter affront to his pride but only he would know.  
His thoughts were broken with a movement from Cosette and he looked to her once more.  
Gently she scooped a small amount of the porridge onto the spoon and brought it carefully to Javert's lips.  
He drew back weakly, startled and looking almost afraid as if he were the wounded animal finding itself cornered. His worn down pride once again reacted defensively, his guard raising between himself and that which he considered another indignity.  
"You must eat", Cosette urged quietly and with patience.  
Javert said nothing, this fierce man, once the terror of so many, now cowered before a young lady armed only with a simple spoon.  
He tried to speak, his voice initially failing him at first attempt.  
Once more he tried, frustrated by his own failings.  
"I will not...", he spoke in a voice that was almost a growl, the sheer indignity of what was being suggested causing him to become both tense and defensive while all the time staring at the food, "I will not... be spoon fed like an infant".  
Cosette sighed greatly, her heart aching at this dilemma. She knew it was imperative that Javert ate and that he was at present far too weakened to help himself, yet she understood just how deeply offensive this gesture must seem to him. Despite this, she could think of no alternative way to help.  
"You must be hungry", she questioned gently, "why will you not let me help you?".  
He was hungry. He was absolutely famished, his body and mind desperate for nourishment. The bread he had eaten before his fever struck him down had sufficed for a short while, but his body was now out of reserves from battling the illness.  
The realisation that he were now so feeble that he required spoon feeding made him shrink back, ashamed and thoroughly disgusted that a man such as he could sink so low as to be offered such a thing.  
"I cannot allow...", he searched for appropriate words while not once taking his eye off the food that appeared so tempting, "...such an embarrassment".  
"Javert...", Cosette quietly spoke in the gentlest voice she could muster, "There is no one here but the two of us. No one will see, no one will ever know".  
Javert listened to the gentle words, trying hard to deny the girl, to stand firm, refuse her help and thus avoid surrendering himself to such a disgrace.  
"Please trust me", Cosette pleaded keeping her voice quiet and discreet, "I swear on my life, on my dearest Papa's soul, on anything you choose that no one will ever know".  
Javert's gaze moved from the food held before him and onto to Cosette, his expression unreadable as if he himself were unsure.  
After several moments during which he appeared to be reluctantly considering the offer he shook his head.  
He could not allow this.  
He knew he had fallen far but this, to allow this, was to allow one humiliation too far.  
In spite of his refusal his stomach rumbled, his body fighting a war against his conscious mind and demanding the food.  
"I give you my word", Cosette added, her eyes begging, pleading with him to reconsider.  
Once more his cold eyes spoke for him, speaking the silent unspeakable as his good eye spoke silently to Cosette. His face bore an expression of sudden uncertainty as if silently seeking an absolute reassurance that he could never bring himself to ask for aloud.  
"I promise", Cosette nodded gently in response to the unspoken question, "Please... Trust me?", she whispered.  
Slowly Javert took in a deep breath, steeling his self respect for that which he could scarcely believe he was about to permit.  
"It would...", he began, his voice breaking up roughly as he spoke, "...be unfortunate to waste good food".  
With a small nod he signalled his permission, his acceptance of both the assistance and the tremendous trust he had just placed in Cosette.  
The young lady smiled softly, ensuring that it was only a small smile, intended to reassure him and not one that might be mistaken for glee or pleasure.  
With his permission granted, she gently eased the spoon towards his mouth. For the briefest of moments he hesitated before complying, as if mentally fighting himself before opening his mouth enough for Cosette to feed him the first spoonful.  
Javert closed his good eye tight in thorough shame for several moments so that he could be spared having to witness this act, part of him refusing to believe that he could be allowing this.  
The porridge tasted good, better than good and it's warmth a sensation almost forgotten, the shame however tasted absolutely foul.  
He opened his eye again as he swallowed.  
"It is good?", Cosette queried with caution, not wanting to distract his focus and give him cause to change his mind.  
She returned the spoon to the bowl for a second helping.  
Javert nodded slowly in response to the question verbalising an "Mmmm" sound in answer.  
"It is good", he finally admitted with some reluctance, deciding that despite his immense displeasure he should at least have the grace to show manners.  
The food was to Javert more than good. He had not eaten a single hot or even warm item of food since he had been hauled into this cell eighteen months ago, surviving mostly on the often stale bread the inmates were given.  
Cosette raised the spoon again with its second helping, once more bringing it carefully to Javert's lips.  
Again he complied, this time with less hesitation but with his discomfort at the awkward situation plain to see.  
The third spoonful followed, neither Javert nor Cosette speaking a word.  
His embarrassment was clear and Cosette did not wish to test his patience with further encouragement, to do so would be to risk patronising him. The remarkable fact that he had allowed her to nurse him in this fashion was to Cosette progress enough.  
Silently she continued her work, patiently feeding him the porridge spoonful by spoonful at a slow and gentle pace until it was almost all gone.  
After some time she raised the last spoonful and noticed Javert pause before accepting the food into his mouth.  
As he swallowed the last of the porridge he shook his head as if casting aside a distracting thought.  
"If Valjean could see this... The very notion...", Javert finally spoke the thought aloud, "I wonder what he would make of it".  
Cosette placed the now empty bowl down beside her, listening to the words of her Papa's old adversary.  
"Papa would have taken no pleasure from your situation", Cosette assured, placing her hand upon his nearest as it supported him.  
Javert said nothing, his hand however flinching at the contact. The touch of another person still felt to him as if it were a breach of his much battered defences, yet he allowed it, refusing the instinct that urged him to pull his hand away.  
He considered Valjean carefully, undecided wether traces of the defiant convict that surely remained buried deep within the Valjean of later days might have derived at least a little satisfaction had he been witness to what had just occurred.  
"And what of you?", Javert asked, the intake of much needed sustenance slowly but clearly rejuvenating his depleted strength, "What would Valjean say had he seen his precious daughter tending Javert of all people?".  
Cosette bit her lip, looking down briefly as she considered the question. This was something she had not considered. All of these events had come about purely by chance as she had set out on her simple task to help those in need. Everything had initially gone according to her plan. She had first delivered much needed blankets to a nearby hospital, then the following week she purchased much needed knitting wool for an orphanage on the far side of town. On delivering it she had also brought flowers and had remained with the children for some time helping them arrange them into a pretty display.  
The third week had brought her to the asylum where the plan had been to deliver blankets and fruit to those sadly cursed by ailments of the mind.  
Encountering Javert had not been part of the plan.  
Her Papa had spent his entire life striving to keep them both out of sight of Javert and Cosette had fully understood the strength of ill feeling her Papa held toward Javert, and yet her Papa had never held genuine hatred toward anyone. Disliked certain people yes, disagreed with people yes, but pure hate was not a concept she associated with her Papa, and thus he could not have truly hated Javert. To thoroughly hate someone, to quite literally feel nothing but all consuming hatred for every fibre of a persons entire soul, was to desire them dead. This was not within the Papa she knew.  
She understood from his writings that her Papa had on two occasions had the chance to finish Javert.  
The first occurred in the hospital in Montreuil-sur-mer at the death of Fantine, the mother she never truly knew and with great sadness remembered little of.  
She knew of the ensuing struggle, knew that her Papa had disarmed and overpowered Javert after having made a threat to "kill you here!" and yet he had settled with merely knocking him unconscious. He could have easily retrieved Javert's truncheon and brought it down upon the fallen policeman's skull with a force she could not bring herself to consider without a shudder. To do so would have solved the problem that was Javert, and yet her Papa had not done so, opting instead to flee full in the knowledge that Javert - one of the few men who could positively identify him - would recover and continue the pursuit.  
The second occasion, and most powerful occurred at the doomed barricade when her Papa had held Javert's very life in his hands. Javert was bound and had been dragged away from the revolutionary onlookers, his life gifted to her Papa like a commodity by their leader. No one was there, no one was looking, it would again have been so easy.  
A simple squeeze of a trigger, the movement of just one finger was all it would have taken. Nobody would have known the identity of the perpetrator and Javert would have been counted simply as another casualty of that terrible night.  
And yet her Papa had released the Inspector, returned to him his freedom and allowed him to leave unharmed.  
Cosette concluded from her thoughts that no, her Papa did not hate Javert. He most certainly did not like him either, he disliked him greatly, holding great ill will towards the unwavering persistence of his pursuer and former jailer, but hate? Hate was not within the Papa she had known.  
She considered these facts for a moment before answering.  
"In all honesty?", she asked, looking up once more into Javert's tired gaze.  
Javert nodded, "in all honesty", he prompted, reeling in her answer as a fisherman reels in his catch.  
"Papa was very protective of me, I believe if he saw us now he would cry out 'Cosette, get away from that man'", she answered unsure of how Javert were to react, but it was the truth.  
"I believe he would... and he may be right", Javert nodded, "Pardon me, I never thanked you for the food, it was refreshing".  
Javert shuffled awkwardly where he sat, fatigued and clearly still pained by his constantly aching back, suppressing a wince as his weary muscles protested.  
"What do you mean?", Cosette asked unsure of Javert's meaning and curious to delve further.  
A void of silence formed as Javert considered his words. His body was slowly regaining some strength and his thoughts were beginning to clear slightly from the fog of hunger.  
"You are a young lady", he finally began, "you should be at home with your husband".  
"I have made a vow to help you", Cosette frowned, unsure why Javert appeared to wavering on their agreement, "why do you sound unsure all of a sudden, what has changed?".  
"The Doctor was right", Javert answered.  
Confusion abounded within Cosette as she attempted to understand Javert's reasoning, concerned that he now sought to push her away, to distance himself from her promised help.  
"Right about what?", she asked.  
Javert coughed again and looked down, the cough again sounding marginally lighter yet still troubling his aching chest.  
He looked to Cosette, deciding to explain his feelings of hesitation.  
"During the Doctors visit I found myself drifting in and out consciousness", he began, "some words I understood, some words became a blur, incoherent ... Others were clear as crystal".  
Cosette listened, remembering Javert waking briefly with just enough strength and clarity to provide the Doctor his name and age.  
Javert paused for a moments thought before deciding to come to the point of that which bothered him.  
"I heard as the Doctor attempted to dissuade you from aiding me".  
Cosette's face fell as she heard the words. The Doctors plea had been impassioned as he had pressed home the gravity of the commitment Cosette had taken on.  
"A respectable young lady should not be seen in a place such as this", Javert continued, his voice somewhat stronger having eaten.  
"I have promised to help you...", Cosette again said, reaffirming her commitment.  
Javert looked down, shaking his head slowly, his neck once again aching under the metal collar.  
"It is not right. The Doctor could see it, your husband must surely have reservations too and...", Javert cast his eyes down, "...I suspect that if he could see, Valjean would be most concerned".  
A sadness grew within Cosette as she listened to this man whom no one wanted to help, this man who had been discarded by society and thrown away as if he were of no more use. Her detractors had indeed raised valid points, points she needed to seriously consider and think through, but she could not abandon this man she had grown to know and, most surprisingly, respect.  
"Javert...", she began in a voice clearly troubled, "...if there is nobody to help you, if you are just left here like this... No I cannot even contemplate it". She shook her head in dismissal at the thought of him remaining locked away for the rest of his life in these conditions which appalled her so greatly.  
Feeling slightly stronger and now able to support himself, Javert raised his hands from the floor, examining the neat bandages that now covered his wrists.  
"You...", this man of little conversation paused to form his words, "...You have freed me from my chains. I truly believed I would wear them for life. For that I am eternally grateful".  
His fingers lightly touched his bandaged left wrist, the wound beneath stinging in response as if to remind him of its presence and it's cause. His eye regarded both wrists with interest as he held them out before him. The very sensation of his wrists finally being separated, of shackles no longer binding them closely together was something that after eighteen months he was finding strange to adjust to. The slightest movement be it reaching for his water or merely scratching an itch had required both shackled wrists to move together in unison, the clinking of chains a constant accompaniment to his every movement.  
Momentarily he felt a wave of bitterness pass over him as he realised just how institutionalised to this routine he had become.  
Glancing to the other side of the cell he noted that his shackles lay discarded by the door as if they were a message, a threat of what could happen again should he fail to keep control of his broken mind.  
He turned his attention back to Cosette and the kind deeds she had carried out on his behalf.  
"You have also aided me when sick", he continued and then waited, "You have done enough. I can ask no more of you".  
"You never asked me for anything...", Cosette corrected, her eyes desperately searching his good eye for the connection they had formed, "I do not care what others say or think. Though I respect the Doctor and love my dear husband, I will not turn my back on you".  
Cosette's tone was unusually firm, her voice usually gentle and soft such was the kind hearted yet naive young lady she was.  
"And Valjean...", Javert probed, "he would support you in this venture?".  
Cosette's eyes broke from Javert, glancing left then right as she wondered.  
"He would have...", she broke off for some moments as she considered what her Papa - her Papa, his thoughts always returned to her Papa - would make of this unique situation, of this bond formed with his old foe of so many years, "...he would have misgivings".  
Cosette's answer was diplomatically spoken. She wondered what her Papa looking down on her from on high would be thinking and she glanced upwards, as if silently sending a reassurance Heavenward.  
"As do I...", Javert breathed quietly, his chest still generating the occasional rumble as he breathed.  
He shuffled where he sat, easing himself round to sit with his pained back against the wall, trying carefully not to disturb the blister on his sore back. He moved his stiff legs, stretching them out before him then raised his freed hands to adjust his collar, pulling the lock to the front so the new longer chain hung loose down his tag covered chest.  
His focus then moved to the chain itself, lifting a length and holding it slack in his hands as he looked at it.  
Cosette watched as he inspected it, knowing that his newfound strength was sure to wear off sooner or later.  
With a look of disgust he took the slack length of chain held between his hands and gave it a dejected tug before dropping it, the chains falling lifeless into his lap.  
"Another leash", he said through gritted teeth, raising his chin in indignation before finally letting out a sigh.  
"What bothers you?", Cosette asked needing to know, "What are these misgivings you have? Tell me?...".  
Javert looked down again to the chain snaking down his rag covered chest, into his lap and then haphazardly along the floor before doubling back to its fixing on the wall.  
He was free of his shackles and the short chain, but this leash of a chain was a constant reminder that he was still nothing more than an imprisoned man.  
"Tell me your goal", Javert asked suddenly looking up to Cosette, "The end result you wish from administering your help?".  
Cosette looked puzzled upon hearing this question, "To help you recover".  
"And then what?", Javert continued as if it were an interrogation.  
"So you can be freed", Cosette again answered, "freed to reclaim your life".  
"Freed...", Javert spoke the word, allowing himself briefly to consider such a thing, "Freedom...".  
"Is that not what you want?", Cosette asked, confusion whirling within her as to why Javert desired explanation of her plans.  
Another twinge of pain coursed through Javert's back, his face grimacing for the briefest of moments as he again fought to hide his discomfort. Gritting his teeth, he allowed the pain to pass before answering.  
"Freed to do what?", he asked in a voice sounding indifferent to the very concept of of the plan.  
Cosette watched Javert's expression, comparing it to that of a man who had glimpsed great hope only to now discard it as an unobtainable dream.  
"I don't understand", Cosette admitted, "You cannot possibly want to remain here in this awful place?".  
"It is not a question of want", Javert replied somewhat sharply with a shake of his head, "The Doctor was right. There is nothing for me out there".  
"There is plenty", Cosette disagreed.  
Javert shook his head again, once more disturbing his pained neck and back.  
His thoughts, cloudy as they remained, ran back through his life, memories of his beginnings, his time as a prison guard and his true passion, enforcing the law.  
"Though it pains me, I accept that I cannot return to the police", Javert admitted. It was an admission tinged with loss for the way of life that had been his very world, it had been his religion and it was now a way of life he mourned every day as he stared at these four stone walls.  
"My return would not be possible, not after being held here", his eye looked down in shame as his weary thoughts deepened, "besides... There are certain facts, edicts, requirements, that I reluctantly now question, and obligations I may well find myself unable to fulfil. I would no longer be able to perform my duties to the exceptional standards the law demands".  
Cosette listened, wishing desperately that she had known at the time that Javert had been able to hear her conversation with the Doctor. She cursed herself silently for not considering that he might have heard.  
"He was also right...", Javert looked down in shame, taking his chain in his right hand as if to distract himself from his own admission, "...about my finances. I have none".  
It was painful for Cosette to watch Javert discuss this. Discussion of subjects personal to himself was clearly uncomfortable to him, as if he were squirming internally whilst maintaining as expressionless an exterior as he could.  
"Despite what you may think, a police inspector is not highly paid. I earned enough to suffice, to cover lodgings, food, essentials, but little else", Javert explained putting aside his discomfort as best he could and looking again to Cosette, "after eighteen months here I have not a penny. Anything I had left is certain to have disappeared once it became clear I would not be returning to my lodgings".  
He looked away, ashamed. Money had never interested him, amassing wealth was something that to Javert seemed unnecessary, yet he had sensibly valued what little finances he had possessed. To him money was nothing more than metal and paper and was required only in amounts needed to survive.  
He had always budgeted carefully, taking careful note of how much was needed for lodgings and what then remained for food.  
What little was left over was put aside and saved, coming in handy for occasional requirements such as polish for his boots. He bought the occasional newspaper. The social and political gossip and commentary within the newspapers did not particularly interest him but it was sometimes a welcome distraction at times when he would briefly pause from paperwork to eat.  
His only occasional piece of spending considered by himself to be frivolous was when he deemed it necessary to refill his small tin of snuff - something he, despite partaking in only occasionally, considered an acceptable luxury.  
"Many years ago events, again concerning your father, forced me to consider viable alternatives to the police", Javert began as he recalled the painful and humbling moment when years prior he felt forced to request his dismissal from Monsieur Madeleine, "it occurred to me that at that time and age I possessed strength enough to work the fields".  
Cosette listened, watching as this dejected man attempted to explain his thoughts.  
"Now my body is consumed daily by the aches and pains of an old fool of no use to anyone".  
"No", Cosette sternly disagreed, "I will not listen to this. Javert you are neither old nor a fool".  
"Your idealism is admirable", Javert commended. In the short time he had known Cosette properly he had noted her keen sense of both loyalty and commitment.  
These were honest and honourable traits that Javert found admirable. There was also something about her patience that Javert found calming, something that put him at ease, a warmth of spirit that was rarely if ever directed his way.  
During his life he had become so used to people fearing him that he took reactions of wariness and indifference toward him for granted. The appearance of Cosette had been a welcome relief from eighteen months of isolation, cold and ill-treatment that had left him feeling almost dead inside.  
The unexpected offer of help, the suggestion that he could one day recover and eventually be released had been as if someone had suddenly illuminated a light at the end of a long and cold tunnel.  
Now however Javert's thoughts reversed, many doubts forming within him as to wether he were being foolish to believe such a thing possible.  
"How can I ever be released if even I do not understand what is wrong with me?", Javert muttered in a voice barely audible.  
Cosette moved, shifting herself to sit down next to him against the wall in solidarity, mirroring his sitting position with her back against the wall.  
"You will dirty your dress", Javert admonished as he watched her in surprise.  
"Then I will have it washed", she simply answered as if stating the most simple of facts.  
Javert did not understand this girl, so simple, so sheltered from the grim realities of this world, and yet so determined to proceed with that which she felt was right.  
"I do not believe that locking you away is helping. If anything I believe it hinders, even makes you worse", Cosette spoke, deciding to give her opinion on Javert's situation, "and when I look at you Javert I do not see a 'Madman'".  
"There are some who would disagree", Javert answered in the flattest of tones, recalling memories of many nights spent pulling at chains and crying out in rage when his struggles failed.  
Cosette shook her head, absolute in her refusal to accept Javert's defeat.  
"All I see is a man who has spent his life being strong, rigid, harsh", Cosette noted her observations, "a man to whom failure has never been an option".  
"I have had to be", Javert responded, the two of them seemingly falling into a calm and quiet conversation.  
"But surely someone can only stay strong for so long?", Cosette questioned, "Look, if I took a brick and piled a great many heavy objects on top of that brick, would the brick not eventually crack?".  
Javert considered the point. It was a simple yet interesting analogy and something he made note to consider.  
"You were raised in comfort by Valjean", Javert attempted to disagree, "I had no choice but to stand strong and prove myself since I was a mere boy. What would you know of hardship my girl?".  
Memories long buried, hidden away in furthest mental corners fluttered to the surface of Cosette's mind upon hearing Javert's words. She said nothing initially as his words touched upon a time so clouded it was almost forgotten. Montfermeil.  
"I am sorry", Javert spoke with shame as he realised the carelessness of his words, "I had forgotten your early life in Monfermeil with the Thenardiers".  
Javert silently chastised himself. His ever pounding headache and fogged thoughts having overlooked the young girls dreadful early years at the inn.  
Another silence fell as Cosette pondered the almost forgotten memories of her time as servant if not slave to the Thenardiers.  
"Then perhaps we both know hardship?", she suggested again with that innocent tone, "hardship for me was rags, just as you wear now and slaving for the Thenardiers every day from early until late while they bled my mother dry of money. A foot wrong, a table not cleared, being slow to bring back the heavy groceries, it didn't take much for Madame Thenardier to punish me. Sometimes it was with the back of her hand, I got used to that, but if she was very angry then sometimes it was her husbands belt".  
"I am sorry if I have revived unpleasant memories", Javert said sincerely.  
"No apology is necessary", Cosette continued to look at Javert, "remembering those days makes me all the more appreciative of the life I have now".  
Javert nodded, relieved that he had not caused offence with his tired and unthinking words.  
"And what of your life?", Cosette asked with a great curiosity within her, "tell me of the boy Javert once was".  
Javert looked down, a reluctance to reveal his reviled origins weighing heavily upon him for fear of stigmatising Cosette's opinion of him.  
"It would not interest you", he replied immediately, dismissing the question as if it held total unimportance and hoping that she would change the subject.  
"Javert...", she looked to him with a keen interest in her eyes, "I would love to know where you come from, what shaped you. Please?".  
She had done it to him again.  
Javert frowned, wondering just how and why this young girl was able to gain his fiercely guarded confidence and put him at ease as often as she did. Perhaps it was his exhausted weakness, perhaps he no longer had the strength to ward off unwanted questions, or perhaps it was because a bond truly had formed between them.  
He did not know, but whatever it was it had a tendency to succeed.  
"You trusted me before", she urged, "with that which I have promised not to speak of, I would truly be very interested".  
Javert sighed in mock irritation at Cosette, knowing she had once again ducked beneath his defences.  
"Where do you think I am from?", he asked, a genuine curiosity within him to discover what assumption she would make based on what she knew of him.  
Cosette thought for some silent moments, pondering this man of law who's values were absolute and who's honesty and sense of duty exceeded that of most men.  
"If I had to guess", Cosette considered, "parents who were very strict, who taught you right from wrong at a very young age?".  
Upon hearing this Javert breathed out a sound that was almost a laugh in response triggering a short cough as he did so.  
Cosette watched, unsure of how to react but understanding that her guess was almost certainly wrong. Her curiosity to learn this fascinating mans origins deepened upon witnessing his reaction.  
Javert took a deep breath. This was a subject he rarely thought back to and something he never discussed with anybody.  
"I was born in prison", Javert stated, his distaste for the admission obvious within his tone, "alongside thieves, murders, con artists. My parents were convicts".  
Cosette's mouth dropped open momentarily in unmasked surprise as she heard the words.  
"I am the son of a gypsy fortune teller mother. My father was sent to the galleys before I was born, I never met him", Javert continued as if confessing to a misdeed.  
Cosette's surprise began to settle and she found herself quite unsure of what she should say.  
"By the age of five I knew how to pick a pocket", he admitted distastefully, "but certain events transpired, events I do not wish to speak of which forced me to stand on my own, to renounce the thieving gypsy bloodline from which I came".  
Cosette nodded, fascinated by the story she was hearing and fully understanding that there were aspects of his childhood Javert might not wish to discuss.  
"It would have been all too easy to grow up following the criminal ways of my parents. I knew and saw every trick, every distraction, every ruse a thief needs...", he paused for his still sickened breath to catch up, "...it is why the pickpockets of Paris feared Inspector Javert above all other officers of the law. When patrolling I knew exactly what to look for in a crowd, the subtle eyeing of a pocket, a silent gesture to an accomplice across the street as they select their victim. I knew it all and used it to put a great many of them in chains for years".  
His voice had changed as he spoke, beginning with a sense shame at his own origins to the glee of the triumphant hunter as he told how how he used those very origins against those who committed crime on the streets of Paris.  
Cosette found herself captivated by the story, listening intently as she attempted to imagine the young gypsy boy. Her fascination was clear and she wanted to know more.  
"You said 'gypsy' in your sleep", she suddenly spoke, not realising that she had spoken the thought aloud as she remembered.  
Momentarily Javert looked surprised, berating his unconscious mind for betraying his secrets during his fevered sleep.  
"I...", he paused in some discomfort at the revelation, "...I did relive memories while asleep in the grasp of sickness... Memories best left buried...".  
He watched Cosette sat next to him, concerned that the revelation of his gypsy heritage had stained her opinion of him.  
"Do you see now why I do not reveal this?", he asked, "that I possess within my veins the blood of such vermin".  
"Javert...", Cosette spoke tenderly and with great gentleness, "I understand, and nobody, not myself, nor anybody else, has the right to judge you by who your parents were".  
"I shall be honest with you, as to why I now hesitate to accept your help", Javert began with the look of exhaustion once again creeping back into his features, "as the son of convicts I was born in prison, amongst bars, chains and filth... It is perhaps not unreasonable to expect that I die in one".  
Cosette's features transformed to an expression of tremendous shock at hearing Javert's words, her very being finding his thoughts outrageous and almost refusing to believe what she had just heard him say.  
"You cannot be serious!", she made one big shake of her head, "Well I am just not having it. I am not leaving you here to fade away, not like... Not like my Papa did".  
Javert was silent, the words of commitment toward him still feeling like a new and unknown sensation.  
"Cosette you should be at home, starting a family, caring for your husband, not wasting your time tending an old fool who cannot even help himself".  
"Javert, forget your origins, it is not the slightest bit important", Cosette countered his point, "and as for my husband, he is often busy most days arranging a business venture. Our home is well tended by Nicolette, and thus, one or two engagements aside, my time is my own".  
Javert watched this girl who so openly countered every argument he made against receiving help and who steadfastly refused to make any judgement upon learning his origins.  
"Javert... I am the daughter of a whore and I have no idea who my father is, my real father that is", Cosette spoke out honestly, "Perhaps we are more alike than we care to realise?".  
Javert considered her surprising words, the realisation that they both came from origins society would deem shameful seemed in Javert's eyes to further cement their bond.  
"Perhaps we are...", he agreed quietly with one more wince, his lower back torturing him yet again with a spasm of pain.  
Cosette felt no shame in her admission, seeing herself as being not only who she was but who both her Papa and The Lord had made her, but her thoughts again became distracted upon once again witnessing Javert's pain.  
"You need proper rest", she said, watching him brace against his body's pain, "you look pale and tired. I do not think you are as strong as you think you are and you do your back no good sat where you are".  
"It will pass", Javert replied, his very nature demanding that he refuse to give in to pain or illness.  
Cosette rose to her feet, standing before him and extending her hand.  
"Can you stand at all?", she asked.  
Defying his aching body Javert moved, shuffling slowly to his knees before placing one hand to the wall to steady himself, a wave of dizziness rushing over him.  
Slowly his other hand reached out, accepting Cosette's own tiny hand in his own.  
With a pained groan Javert forced himself to his feet. He was not yet strong but the intake of food had provided him with energy enough for him to drag himself to his feet.  
As he stood, Cosette moved forward, placing herself directly next to him under his right shoulder and forcing him to place his arm around her own shoulder for support. Even though she were small she would use every ounce of strength she could summon to ensure her trusting ally did not fall.  
Javert expelled a sharp breath as his back spasmed once more and placed his free left hand to his lower back, soothing it as best he could.  
Now he was at last standing, it was clear to Cosette that Javert was unable to stand to his full height even with her support. He stood hunched over, his back tormenting him mercilessly if he attempted anything further.  
Reluctantly Cosette mentally compared this to the posture of old men she would often see walking in the park, hunched over with age and frail bodies as they walked with the aid of a stick.  
She shook the thought off, reminding herself that this was not a frail old man but Javert and that she had a task to carry out.  
"Walk with me, slowly", she encouraged, refusing to hurry him.  
Slowly Javert stepped forward, Cosette constantly supporting him as best she could. His strength had clearly increased with the food but it was clear that this brief boost was now waning and that he was far from recovered. Every step was slow. One foot and then the other, slowly and surely with gentle words from Cosette.  
"Lie down", she softly instructed as they once again reached the blankets he had previously laid upon.  
Javert's movements were slow, painfully lowering himself to the blankets with Cosette's assistance as his aching back and joints protested and his body began to tremble once more from the effort expended.  
Finally he eased himself down to a sitting position and allowed Cosette to help him lower himself back to lie flat on his back.  
A groan escaped him through gritted teeth as he finally lay down, Cosette noting the fact that his rapid heart rate, increased by exertion, was visible through his rags.  
He breathed as if out of breath, a few more light coughs taking hold as he lay down, his sickly chest disturbed by the movement.  
Slowly his head again rested down on the folded blanket that made for a pillow, Cosette ruffling it briefly in an attempt to make it more comfortable.  
"Is that alright?", Cosette checked, turning around to retrieve one of the blankets Javert had deliriously discarded during the night as he sought desperately to cool himself.  
"It is perfect", Javert complimented as he lay watching as Cosette shook out the blanket she held.  
She leant forward, leaning over Javert as she spread the blanket carefully over him to cover his body.  
Diligently she tucked the large blanket in around him, ensuring he were wrapped warmly and that he were free from any chills.  
Finally she reached toward his collar, her fingers gently taking hold of the hated device while all the time being aware of his sharp eye watching her as she did so.  
"May I?", she asked quietly having noted that it appeared to be digging into the back of his neck as he lay.  
Silently Javert gave a nod and Cosette continued, Javert lifting his head slightly as Cosette gently repositioned the collar.  
He laid his head back down, the collar no longer causing discomfort and it's padlock once again lying at the front.  
"Thank you", he breathed.  
Cosette smiled in response, giving his shoulder a gentle pat as she watched him.  
"I know it's late morning but I think you should rest, get some sleep if you can", Cosette advised as she got to her feet, "I'll refill your water and then I must leave you for a while - my husband is meeting business associates today and we are to dine with them this evening. Marius wishes me to find an evening dress before then but that will mean I shall be unable to return today... I am concerned, will you be alright on your own?".  
"Cosette...", he breathed, "Your priority must be your husband. If you do not go to him as promised I shall be greatly offended, and you would not appreciate a greatly offended Javert".  
Cosette took onboard the reassurance, moving briefly to the other side of the cell to retrieve Javert's empty cup and the basket she was rarely without.  
She placed the basket next to Javert and stepped out of the cell with the lightest of steps, returning a mere minute or two later with not one but two cups filled with water.  
Bending down she placed the two cups next to where she had bedded down Javert, easily within his reach, and with a brisk movement she pulled up the stool Monsieur Loiselet had granted. She sat down upon it, surveying Javert as he lay quietly.  
"The water contains a mild sedative the Doctor left for you", Cosette explained, "it is not strong, just intended to aid your sleep".  
Javert nodded, aware that his body desired rest.  
"And you must continue to drink", she continued reeling off her instructions, "the Doctor said you must drink, and you must rest".  
Again Javert nodded.  
Reaching into her basket Cosette pulled out a newspaper and held it out so Javert could see before placing it next to his cups of water.  
"I thought you might like something to read too, something to occupy your mind", she explained.  
"You are too kind to this aching old Policeman", Javert admitted realising slowly that the showing of gratitude was something he was very slowly becoming accustomed too.  
"I do not know which publication you favour, if any", Cosette continued apace, "it is all just talk of politicians and scandal. But don't forget, you must rest, drink and sleep and..."  
"Cosette...", Javert found himself having to raise his voice slightly to gain her attention.  
She stopped mid sentence, falling into silence.  
"Cosette, I understand...", Javert reassured faithfully, "...I have my orders".  
Cosette smiled with a tinge of embarrassment.  
"I am sorry, I fuss", she admitted with a blush forming on her face, "Papa used to say I fuss, Marius too...".  
"Go to your husband", Javert urged, "I will be just fine here. I promise I will rest".  
Cosette smiled and rose to her feet as she looked at Javert, picking up her basket as she did so. She watched him with a feeling of contentment, satisfied that he had everything he needed, that he had water, he had eaten and he was warm.  
She began to head towards the door, her conscience torn between leaving him or fulfilling her obligation to Marius.  
Noting that Javert's eyes were already closed she crept from the cell, pulling the door closed behind her as quietly as she could.  
Before leaving she would speak to Monsieur Loiselet and register her displeasure at the night guards failure to keep watch over Javert's condition in the hope that tonight they would be far more attentive.

 

After the departure of Cosette Javert slept peacefully for some hours, his chest rising and falling to a steady rhythm in the quiet of the cell.  
As the hours past he did not stir once and lay slumbering undisturbed exactly as Cosette had left him. Even the occasional shout or cry of his fellow inmates in adjacent cells did not wake him.  
Javert woke briefly during the late afternoon and hauled himself with some effort into a sitting position.  
In accordance with Cosette's instructions he drank, the much needed rest having rejuvenated his strength enough to lift his cup.  
Once more he drank the water eagerly and in large gulps as he swallowed it down, emptying the cup in a short amount of time.  
His thirst satisfied for now, and content that he had obediently carried out Cosette's instructions, Javert laid himself slowly back down. The movement once again provoked the crushing pain from his back that he had come to expect.  
Once laid back down Javert closed his good eye tight and grimaced until the pain passed, pulling the top blanket back over himself as a sensation of shivering slowly enveloped his body.  
He pulled the blanket tighter around himself unsure wether he were reacting simply to the ever present chill of the cell or if it were the shiver of his illness making itself known.  
He good eye opened yet focused on nothing as he lay, rubbing his hands up and down his arms for warmth under the blanket, his skin bristling with goosebumps and once more feeling clammy.  
His concern was short lived as within minutes of drinking the sedative laced water Javert felt his good eye drifting shut, a feeling of tremendous sleepiness overpowering him like the warmth of a fire. He lay in this fashion for some minutes, his eyes closed, body shivering and feeling ever more drowsy as if he were being lulled to sleep.  
A short time later he was asleep once more, his chest again falling into a peaceful rhythm of rising slowly up then down.  
He returned once more to a peaceful sleep, undisturbed.  
After some quiet hours the day began to draw to its eventual close, the small amount of light that entered the window dimming until it found itself replaced with dusk followed itself by the onset of the early hours of the night.  
It was now that the demeanour of the sleeping mans body began to undergo a gradual change, peaceful slumber slowly finding itself replaced with disturbed movements, his voice sounding in occasional indecipherable bursts in reaction to something only he could see in his sedative laced sleep.  
Underneath the blankets his temperature had risen dramatically and his fingers began to flinch sporadically.  
His voice moaned again, sounding as if a struggle were ensuing.  
Suddenly his arms moved. His blanket was thrown to one side as he lashed out, his arms attempting to strike out defensively as if trying desperately to push someone away from him, off of him.  
His distinctive voice growled as his struggle continued, his legs squirming where he lay as he fought to free himself from the attacker who preyed upon him in his darkest dreams.  
In reality there was no other soul present inside the cell but Javert, alone and fighting a desperate fight against an adversary who was not there.  
Any passer by who might have witnessed this would have deemed it a tragic sight as this man once so proud, firm and immaculately turned out now lay with the appearance of a tramp fighting ghosts only he could see.  
To the mind of the sleeping Javert, his demons waking from their illness induced slumber, the ghost was real.  
The ghost sat astride him, white haired, eyes filled with rage and it's form wearing the uniform of a National Guardsman.  
The ghost was Valjean.  
In his prone position Javert found himself unable to resist the brute strength of Valjean as the convict utilised both his weight and power to pin the policeman down, his hands reaching forth and wrapping themselves around his former jailers throat.  
Javert struggled immensely, thrashing about wildly on his back, the wolf unable to pull itself free from the snare in which it was caught.  
"You use my daughter, Javert!", the ghost accused fiercely, bristling with anger, his fingers all the time increasing their pressure on Javert's throat, "You use her!".  
Valjean's strength, easily greater than that of Javert rendered the former Inspector almost defenceless before his onslaught, his struggles losing the battle to throw the aggressor off him.  
In a fit of enraged panic, Javert summoned every drop of his strength and with a cry, raised his arms and lashed out at his attacker.  
The forceful shove, the last desperate move of the wolf cornered by its attacker, succeeded in destabilising Valjean, causing him to fall backwards landing hard on his back at the feet of his old pursuer.  
With a tremendous start and a gasp for air Javert woke back to reality, sitting bolt upright, his expression wild eyed and alert.  
He spluttered, his hands springing to his throat in panic but finding only his collar, his eyes were wide in hysteria and he coughed and choked hard as he fought for air.  
The cell was enveloped in near total darkness, night having fallen and the stars shining bright, visible as though they were mere pin pricks visible through the tiny window high up the wall.  
Javert breathed hard and rapid, his breath audible in gasps and his heart beating wildly as his pulse raced. Quickly he moved and climbed to his knees, his movement cautious yet animalistic, like the prey that knows it's hunter is nearby, waiting.  
Sweat drenched his entire body yet he shivered almost uncontrollably as he moved. Momentarily he swayed where he knelt, overcome by a wave of dizziness and nausea causing the cell to feel as if it were spinning. His sudden instability combined with his pounding headache made him feel as if he might vomit that very moment.  
He fought hard to suppress it, tried to breathe slow, to focus, a wave of panic and foreboding overcoming him as his dizziness finally faded, his instinct reminding him that his attacker must be nearby, that he had merely freed himself from Valjean's iron grasp temporarily.  
Quickly he looked around, his head snapping from left to right in agitation as he frantically searched, shuffling around in the dark on his knees in search of the 'dangerous man' that was Valjean.  
The blackness of the cell blinded Javert, his entire surroundings plunged into nothing but pitch darkness with the exception of that one small square window, it's stars twinkling like silver specks.  
Defensively Javert dropped to his hands and knees, keeping low to avoid Valjean in the belief that if he could not see Valjean then Valjean could not see him.  
His body and instincts were on full alert and he reached out across the floor ahead of him, sweeping his shivering arm across the dirt from left to right in search of that which he desperately sought.  
His sense of urgency increased as he failed to find the object he desired, the whites of his eyes almost glowing as the only objects in the cell capable of reflecting the light of the stars. He became more flustered as he crawled, able to feel the heat radiating from his own body as his hands desperately tried to find the object.  
"Truncheon...", he silently mouthed, willing his faithful weapon to make itself known.  
With the chink of a chain he was suddenly stopped in his tracks, gagging as his collar was pulled by the taut chain.  
His voice growled in anger, his delirious mind failing to grasp where he was and what was happening under the strain of his returned fever.  
He turned back, grasping the chain and using it to hoist himself to his feet. Confusion ran wild within his mind, pulling hard at the chain with no understanding of why he were tethered by it.  
Immediately suspecting Valjean he took on a defensive stance, ready for another attack, one that 24601 must have waited so long for. Valjean was dangerous and had been labelled so for very good reason.  
Stealthily he moved around the cell, trying to remain silent and unseen by his adversary while cursing desperately the sound of the chain that constantly followed him.  
His keen ears listened, expecting to find himself able to hone in on the sound of Valjean's breathing, to stalk his prey and then strike, disabling Valjean with a fist that would see the chase end and the quarry returned to prison.  
He heard nothing. From within the silence another sound grew and he realised that it was the sound of his own breathing, breathing hard, panting, out of control.  
He fell to his knees, shaking and feeling the sensation of sweat as it ran down his face.  
His heart pounded, the temples of his head thumping with every pump of blood.  
The night air drifted cooly but made little difference as he gazed up, his mind containing thoughts that were moving with such speed he could no longer focus on a single concept other than Valjean...  
Valjean was here and he had to be stopped.  
It was his duty to detain the convict and return him to prison before his escape could succeed...  
His escape must be halted... It was his duty as a guard...  
Suddenly this train of thought halted, crashing to a sudden mental stop.  
Javert shook his head in dazed frustration, thoughts flying around, disjointed and making no sense...  
A guard... No, again shaking his head and placing a trembling hand to his profusely perspiring forehead.  
He was not a guard and this was not Toulon!  
He growled to himself, baring his teeth defensively as an enraged Rottweiler bares it's fangs, his mind failing to enlighten him with where he was or what was happening.  
Once more he reached out across the ground, his thoughts a shambles, all the time failing to understand why his truncheon was not within reach.  
The truncheon... The truncheon of a policeman!  
A policeman, that was what he was!  
A sudden perplexity overcame him as he questioned how he could have forgotten this.  
Valjean! Valjean, his mind concluded, must be responsible for this.  
Perhaps Valjean had struck him hard and left him dazed? Yes, that must be it, he decided.  
But this meant Valjean was now armed with his truncheon and he had to be careful.  
He moved again, trying to stand but yet again his balance deserted him and he fell back to his knees with the rustle of his chain.  
Why a chain?  
He did not understand.  
His hands reached to his collar, his fingers grasping at it and pulling in confusion.  
Why was a metal collar locked around his neck? Who had put it there?  
He could not think, nor remember.  
Was this Valjean's doing too?  
The sturdy metal collar refused to give, Javert pulling harder and harder at it, the chains constantly clinking in response to the movements.  
He fell forwards, lightheaded and woozy, landing sprawled face first on the floor shivering and sweating. Nothing made any sense as he tried to think, his mind dense with a fog-like confusion.  
Thoughts were linked together yet jumbled, Toulon or Paris? Guard or Policeman? If this was a prison then why was a Valjean dressed as National Guard? Or had he been? He should wear the smock of the convict.  
Without even realising he cried out, a long and heartrending howl of utter rage shrieking through the cell.  
Slowly and disorderly he clambered to a kneeling position, bent over in frustration and running his shaking fingers into his long hair.  
Pandemonium, havoc and turmoil all whirled through his head in a nonstop motion of rapidly changing uncertainty.  
Where was he?  
Where was Valjean?  
Why was he chained?  
And why, most of all, could he not remember which Javert he was?  
He pulled hard at his hair in exasperation, hoping in vain that he might stabilise his mind by inducing some form of pain to himself.  
His great voice groaned in despair as his thoughts failed to clear, the thoughts packing themselves ever tighter into his mind feeling as if they might suffocate him if they continued.  
He needed something, something to grasp onto to slow his speeding mind, something constant, trustworthy, reassuring.  
From where he knelt bent double he slowly raised his head releasing his hair, looking up at the only discernibly visible sight.  
He looked at the stars.  
The window was high up, barred and out of reach so as to prevent escape attempts yet the stars shone clear through it as though no barrier could stop them.  
These celestial objects shone bright as they looked down upon Javert, as if he were the only one who could see them, and they the only ones who could see him.  
Like Cosette they were the sentinels standing guard over him, blessing him with their light.  
His eyes stared wide, locked onto the stars as if only he and they existed.  
The stars remained still and bright in their grace and Javert's eyes wavered from them not once.  
They were serene, calming, sat silently in the Heavens above as they observed and lit all beneath them with their cleansing light.  
Slowly Javert breathed out, a relief overcoming him as his tensed body calmed and his troubled mind slowed.  
It was as if by some miracle the stars themselves had reached down, touched this turmoiled man and calmed him.  
He brushed a hand over his sweat covered face, steadying himself from the shock this latest attack of madness had given him.  
Numbness was felt throughout his entire a soul, the numbness of a man who had once again fallen victim to the horror that stalked his own mind.  
Coming down from an attack was something Javert had never found himself able to describe, not even to himself.  
It was as if everything had suddenly fallen silent and ceased, the raging inferno burning out of control suddenly finding itself extinguished, a deafening and thunderous turmoil suddenly changing to a silent abyss.  
After an attack Javert could not form words, not verbally nor within his own thoughts. He could only sit, shivering as he was, and fall silent both inwardly and outwardly.  
He again looked to the stars, seeking their ever present reassurance after having been restrained from seeing them for so long.  
He tried to remember... To remember why he had been unable to see the stars but his memory failed, unable to recall the months he had spent chained beneath the window, the stars hidden from view.  
Despite a sense of calm beginning to settle over him Javert could not shake off a sensation of being on-edge, his senses still on alert and ready to scramble from this position at the slightest provocation.  
Yet the stars reassured him at every glance, as if restoring order and communicating gently to him that everything was alright.  
Every glance away from the stars however brought doubt, suspicion that Valjean lurked in the dark, ready to strike him down if Javert himself did not strike first.  
Javert shook his head... The stars were right, silent in their certainty, promising that nothing to fear lurked within the dark.  
The stars were light, the stars were justice, and so the stars could not be wrong. And so the righteous light of the stars calmed Javert and, despite the vulnerability he felt in the aftermath of his frenzied madness, allowed him peace to recuperate.  
He breathed slowly, still unable to think in words and allowed the starlight he sat bathed in to protect him.  
It was peaceful... Almost Heavenly.  
It was a shield from the madness...  
It was...  
Fading!  
Javert blinked, staring up in concern as the stars began to fade, urging them to return and again cast forth their soothing light.  
At first they dimmed, their light muffled as night time cloud drifted past them on the breeze.  
Moments later the stars faded completely, abandoning the man they comforted once more to the nauseating clutches of pitch darkness.  
Javert froze, trying hard to maintain his focus, waiting for the stars to reappear.  
A rumble of thunder in the far off distance provided a defiant answer which dashed his hopes.  
The stars were gone.  
His body tensing once again Javert spread his hands on the floor before him as if attempting to grasp the ground itself.  
His shoulders tensed and teeth gritted, as if bracing himself for his inner demons to unleash another bout upon him.  
If he was ready, he decided, then this time he might just be able to fight it. Often the madness came unexpectedly, triggered by a stray thought, or it crept up slowly in the night, lurking cowardly until he were at his drowsiest and most vulnerable.  
This time Javert, despite gaps of fractured confusion within his mind, refused to be fooled into chasing ghosts that did not exist.  
"Valjean is not here..."  
"Valjean is not here..."  
"Valjean is not here..."  
He repeated this constantly, his voice low and his eyes darting around the darkness as if unconvinced.  
Without a conscious thought, he raised one hand, flexing it in and out of a fist form as if readying to strike.  
"Valjean is not here...", he urged his paranoia to believe this.  
A flash of lightning took him by surprise, jolting all his senses into a sense of imminent danger, his mind fighting these irrational feelings.  
And yet the feelings rose, tension in his muscles, his shoulders stiffening and his thought process jumping, stalling, an image of Valjean again flashing into his mind as if taunting him.  
The reassurance that Valjean were not there suddenly seemed laughable, as if he were a fool who had been duped.  
He would not stand for it. He snorted a deep breath and prepared to rise to his feet from his knees.  
Still shivering and drenched with sweat Javert rose staggering to his feet, reaching out to grab the convict he knew was there, who must be there...  
Finally the cracking thunder sounded, it's very noise sounding as if the night sky were breaking open above Paris.  
Javert swung an arm out in rage, hoping to strike Valjean and take him down.  
Suddenly Javert stopped in his tracks, eyes wide in fury as that which he took to be his enemy took him by surprise.  
A blunt object shoved him hard in the back, between his shoulders from behind with considerable force.  
"That's enough of that!", a male voice called from behind him in irritation, the thunder having masked the creaking open of the cell door.  
Enraged at having been outsmarted with such ease and fearing an imminent attack Javert spun round with a guttural roar of anger, his eyes wild and all control suddenly lost, snapped in an instant by his madness as if it were a mere twig.  
He reached out sharply as he turned, his hunters instinct reaching for where he sensed the offending object was held and tore it from its holders grasp.  
It was a truncheon!  
He knew it!  
With no time for indecision and unwilling to risk a further attack from Valjean Javert swung the truncheon, striking the man he took for Valjean clear across the shoulder as he attempted to turn and flee.  
With an audible crack and a pained cry the man fell.  
Footsteps followed, and several silhouetted figures appeared rushing into the cell, one carrying a lamp and remaining back, illuminating the scene with a low light from behind.  
Sensing the imminent reinforcements Javert again swung the truncheon with force, his technique as sharp as it had ever been, his madness raging out of control, surging his strength and honing his hunters instincts towards the next target.  
His confused mind whirled to the conclusion that these men were Valjean's fellow convicts, dangerous men somehow on the loose from their cells, Javert himself now sensing imminent danger.  
His second attacker also brandished a truncheon and Javert leapt forward, grabbing the mans arm and throwing him off balance toward the floor.  
The attacker rose fast back to his feet but had been disarmed. He lunged at Javert only to receive a truncheon to the side of his head and dropped to the floor immediately without a sound.  
"Rioters!", Javert cursed, "Valjean at the heart of it!".  
His fury was absolute, total rage pulsing through his veins as his fevered mind blinded him to his uncharacteristic violence, all self control having left him and nothing circulating in his mind other than this 'prison riot' being of Valjean's orchestration.  
He had to hold out, he concluded as he brandished the truncheon defensively, more of the Toulon guards would join him soon, this disorder would be stamped out and the perpetrators justly punished.  
It was as if a wild beast within Javert had been let lose and taken over, the calm and proper policeman replaced by the madness itself possessing him and taking human form.  
A third man rushed into the cell, again armed with a truncheon, his expression changing to anger as he sighted the two men lying injured on the stone floor.  
"You bastard!", he cried, "Guards! More guards!! More guards!!".  
Infuriated he swung his truncheon, landing a lucky blow to Javert's right side.  
It yielded little result, Javert's fevered frenzy simply too out of control to process any sensation of pain.  
Unhindered Javert swung out his fist, the truncheon still held tight within it and landed his knuckles hard into the mans face with a crack.  
This third attacker also fell, joining the previous two on the ground, moaning in pain with his hands to his bloodied nose.  
Javert panted hard, his breathing fast from exertion, his sudden strength being drawn from the fire of madness.  
With a rumble of heavy boots numerous more guards burst into the cell and converged upon Javert at once.  
He landed a glancing blow to two of them but their sheer strength in numbers began to turn the tide.  
A blow landed on his shoulder, still not enough to disable him but enough to momentarily distract him.  
He swung out with the truncheon once more and the attackers seized this opportunity.  
Two men rushed forwards and grabbed Javert's right arm as he raised it to lashout.  
As he struggled to free it another two rushed forward and grabbed his left, restraining his offensive movements and protecting their other two comrades from attack.  
"Get him on the ground!", one of the remaining men ordered, "quickly!".  
The struggle continued as the men attempted to push Javert down, his adrenalin fuelled strength blocking their every attempt as he in turn attempted to dislodge them from his person.  
He shook his entire body, trying desperately to release his attackers grip on his arms, a scenario raging through his delusional mind that these 'escaped prisoners' might seek to possess him as a hostage.  
He would not allow such disgrace and with full force pushed forward, knocking one attacker off his feet and causing him to fall with a thud.  
That left three men holding him.  
"Enough!", the lead man cried stepping in to reinforce his men.  
With a deep grunt of anger directed at this out of control man the lead guard rushed forward and swung his leg forward in a kick, his heavy boot brutally striking Javert as hard as possible between his legs.  
The chaos within the cell suddenly ceased, all struggling stopping and deep snarls of resistance evaporating.  
Javert fell suddenly limp into the arms of the guards who held him, his legs failing beneath him and the truncheon falling to the ground with a clatter as his hand released his grasp on it.  
An extended moan like that of a wounded beast emanated from Javert as he tried to bend over double as the guards held him, his body desiring nothing more than to curl up defensively into a protective ball.  
The guard commanders kick had been hard, viscous and very deliberate, a technique long proven to disable a violent inmate instantly should other methods of persuasion have failed.  
"Now get him on the ground!", he again ordered, "face down!".  
The guards voiced a confirmation of the order and pulled Javert forwards, hurling him downwards with considerable force.  
He landed hard and face first in the dirt and immediately began to curl up, the pain he felt almost beyond words and his hands instinctively moving to protect his most private of parts from a second attack.  
He coughed, retching and moaning as he did so, the agony he felt being of such intense nature that he wanted to vomit.  
The guard commanders method had worked flawlessly and all resistance had ceased.  
"Two of you!", the guard commander pointed to two of his men, "see to the injured!".  
Two of the guards nodded and rushed to their fallen comrades. Two were conscious and writhing in pain, one holding his shoulder and another with blood smeared across his face. One was unconscious having received a blow to the head from the truncheon.  
The guard commander moved to stand over Javert, casting his eyes first to the agonised inmate and then to his men who now had a firm grip on him.  
"Lie him flat then restrain him", the commander ordered.  
With some shuffling the guards pulled Javert flat onto his chest, pulling his arms outstretched and pinning them to the ground.  
Javert's resistance was minimal, struggling as he was more out of a desire to change position caused by the blow he had received than to resist capture.  
The guard commander approached having retrieved Javert's shackles from where they had lain discarded by the cell door.  
He lowered himself next to Javert, kneeling with his weight pressed onto Javert's pained lower back to aid the men pinning him down.  
"Give me an arm", he instructed the men on Javert's left.  
They obeyed and Javert's left arm was swiftly bent back and placed behind his back, a jolt emanating from Javert's body as his back spasmed in pain.  
The guard commander worked away, the clanking of the chains sounding as the shackle was reattached to Javert's wrist in just seconds  
"And the right", he indicated to the others with a nod.  
The right arm was also passed, indecipherable words discernible from Javert as he gave a pathetic struggle.  
"Ankles", the commander methodically ordered as he moved himself off of Javert's back.  
Two of the men held Javert's lower legs as the commander moved nearer and attached the ankle shackles rendering Javert once again helpless and chained.  
In spite of his discomfort Javert struggled immediately, his agitation clear and his mind still too fogged to comprehend what was happening.  
"No...", he protested, "no!".  
He shook his arms and legs where he lay on the floor, his voice sounding a growl of frustration as he fought the return of his chains.  
Why did being chained seem so familiar?  
Not a single thought came clearly, his instincts pushing him on, instructing him that it was his obligation as a prison guard.... No... as a policeman... to escape his captors.  
Frustration building at his inability to distinguish even his own identity and, despite still feeling the pain within him the commanders kick had caused, he raised his head as best he could and brought his own forehead down hard onto the stone floor.  
How could he not remember who he was?  
Reality was fast escaping Javert and he raised his head again, repeating the action once more, then again scraping a graze across his forehead.  
"Stop him!", the commander shouted pointing to Javert.  
The guards descended on Javert, several of them pinning his legs to the ground, several kneeling on his back and one holding his head firmly to the ground to prevent any further harm.  
"What in God's name has got into him?", the commander exclaimed upon seeing this man he had guarded for months reduced to this state before him.  
"He's been ill", one of the guards holding Javert commented, "and he's boiling hot right now, the sweat is running off him".  
The guard commander sighed, shaking his head in frustration.  
"We can't leave him like this, bring him back over to his old neck chain", he instructed, "I need him under control until he calms down".  
The guards complied, two of them taking hold of Javert under his arms and dragging him along the ground towards the short neck chain.  
Remaining within the grip of massive confusion Javert still struggled as he was dragged, dizziness again beginning to overcome him.  
He felt himself being placed against the wall, guards holding him in a sitting position while his collar was manhandled.  
Clicks of a lock, sounds of chain and the refastening of a lock were audible to Javert's dazed mind, his vision beginning to blur in and out of focus.  
Finally he felt the hands leave him and heard footsteps drift away to the other side of the cell, his eyelids dropping with exhaustion, his body aching and a numb and tender pain remaining where he had been kicked.  
The voices had not left, merely moved away muttering words about wounded men.  
Darkness blanketed Javert's side of the cell, sat as he had been positioned by his captors with his neck held once again by the short chain, his back to the wall and his legs outstretched.  
The dark, it was both piercing and cold.  
The dark brought images, or were they memories? Dark images of a bridge, of plunging, of the dark vision seen only by eyes of a man who has been pulled under by a torrent, the underwater darkness of an abyss of blackness below and a watery surface out of reach above, the crushing sensation of rapids that meet tearing him one way then another!  
Drowning was something the living were not supposed to remember, and yet Javert remembered, remembered his drowning... remembered his death!?  
"Death!", he suddenly gasped aloud in sudden terror, his eyes wide as another potential realisation crashed into his shattered and incoherent mind!  
His blood ran cold as the possibility whirled, making perfect sense to his irrational and broken thoughts!  
"Am I dead?...", he whispered the possibility in absolute horror, his terrified mind concluding that his suicide attempt all those months ago may have actually been successful, "Am I dead... And this Hell!?".  
His heartbeat again accelerated, his pulse frantic as the nightmarish facts dawned upon him.  
He remembered waking here, discovering himself chained like an animal, like the convicts he himself guarded, months and months of being chained to the spot, months of soul destroying utter solitary silence, fighting his chains and ripping his flesh on a daily basis.  
This was torture, he concluded, and so this was Hell.  
If this were Hell he thought, his shivering subtly changing to a tremble of absolute fear, then this would continue forever, his mind and body constantly tormented by mistreatment and tortures every day for all of eternity.  
Mentally he blasted himself. If he had never jumped, if he had simply gone home or taken himself to the nearer police post and resigned in disgrace then none of this would have happened.  
Again the furious beast within him stirred in blind panic and he shuffled around in his chains, rising with some difficulty in his dazed condition to his knees, his balance poor from both dizziness and his arms being restrained behind his back.  
He pulled down hard, pulling the neck chain and collar, the panicking wolf desperate to free itself.  
The chain pulled taut, remaining steadfast where it was.  
Blinded by anger at himself, panic at his thoughts and utter chaos within his mind Javert again rose as high as his kneeling position would allow.  
Again he pulled himself down hard and fast, the neck chain again halting him hard and causing him to gag and choke.  
Once more he rose, tears beginning to visibly roll down his face as his confusion and terror overwhelmed him.  
Was he a guard and this Toulon?  
Was this a riot?  
Was he a policeman?  
Or was he dead by his own hand and condemned to Hell?  
All were real and yet none were real.  
He threw himself down again, the collar causing a painful jolt to his aching neck as the chain pulled tight.  
He began to sob silently, tears rolling freely as he rose once more in utter desperation for this to end.  
It had to end, all things had to end.  
Once more he hurled himself down hard, the painful jolt of the chain pulling the collar with such force it felt as if he had almost ripped his own head from his shoulders.  
"No more...", Javert whispered through his desperate tears, "I can take no more!".  
He threw himself down yet again, his windpipe feeling as if it had been crushed by the collar as it again caught him forcefully.  
Again he rose and threw himself down, then again, harder and with growing desperation each time, knowing full well the result he sought and caring not a damn.  
"By God he's trying the break his own neck!", the guard commander shouted as he returned from supervising the removal of the injured men, "Guards! Bring rope!".  
The commander rushed across the cell towards Javert and thrust his right arm around Javert's throat, holding him firm and preventing him from attempting any further attempts at taking his own life.  
Javert was breathing rapidly, almost hyperventilating, sweat and tears streaming down his face and a shiver trembling all over his body.  
Two guards rushed in carrying a length of rope.  
"I cannot let this man harm himself any further", the commander stated and took hold of the rope, "hold him still!"  
The guards obeyed, pinning Javert on his knees against the wall but preventing any movement.  
Javert did not struggle, his strength abandoning him almost immediately and leaving him seemingly resigned to whatever was to happen next, his options all exhausted.  
"This is for your own good...", the commander said quietly as he bent to one knee before Javert and firmly tied one end of the rope to his collar, "now bend forward as far as the chain will allow you... Slowly!".  
Javert silently complied, leaning forward as authority ordered him until the chain prevented him lowering himself further.  
The commander then took the rope, pulling it down and between Javert's legs. He ensured the rope was pulled taut and then tied it tight to the chain binding Javert's ankles.  
"Can you rise?", the commander asked.  
Javert's aching body attempted to rise but failed, the rope tight and refusing to budge.  
"Can you lower yourself?".  
Again Javert attempted to comply but could only shake his head slowly, the rope steadfastly preventing him him rising and the chain preventing him lowering.  
"Good", the commander said, almost satisfied.  
He pulled a dagger from a sheath attached to his belt and sliced the rope that remained unused.  
With this he tied one end to Javert's ankle chain and then pulled it upwards securing the opposite end tight to the chains linking Javert's wrists behind his back.  
"There...", the commander concluded, "...Can't have you swinging your legs out either".  
Javert was silent, his head hung low as he finally accepted defeat.  
The position was uncomfortable, knelt over but not quite bent double, the chain and rope preventing him from both moving and making further attempts at harming himself but also preventing him from resting comfortably. Attaching the second rope, closely linking his chained wrists to his chained ankles further reduced his ability to resist, disabling any attempt to kick out, but also preventing him from simply sitting as he had done for so many months.  
"I like it", one guard remarked as he observed the scene, "clever".  
"A variation on the martingale", the commander answered, "he would strangle himself in minutes if we put him in a martingale".  
The commander rose back to his feet, looked down with an expression of pity at Javert and reached down, extending a hand to Javert's shoulder, his rags soaked with sweat.  
"Try and relax...", he urged, "...calm down. The longer you fight it, the longer you stay like that".  
With that the commander moved away, his guards retrieving dropped truncheons and talking amongst themselves as they slowly filtered out of the cell.  
The cell door finally slammed shut, the injured men removed, the incident itself now seemingly over.  
Javert found himself once again alone in the silent dark.  
His mind was slowly clearing, reality finally returning to him with increasing clarity as his madness left him, drifting away once more as if discarding him now it had once again left him spent after having violated his mind and soul.  
He breathed out uncomfortably with a shiver feeling himself weaker than he ever had. The power he had earlier displayed had been fired purely by the madness and the combination of adrenalin and terror it had sparked.  
Now the cloud of madness had retreated he was once more left with his sickened frailty, exhaustion and dizziness overwhelming both body and soul more and more with each passing minute.  
His legs began to feel numb against the cold floor in this forced position and Javert attempted to shuffle to a position less uncomfortable.  
Neither rope nor chain accepted his attempts at movement and Javert reluctantly gave up, the last of his strength failing, forcing him to remain kneeling in this half bent over position on his scuffed knees.  
A feeling he was unaccustomed to arose within him, almost unidentified and unknown, creeping up as the only emotion remaining.  
Anger was gone, burned out by his madness.  
Frustration had also left him, chased away also by the madness.  
Within him now rose a feeling of desolate sadness, dark and desperate as he longed for his past life as the policeman society both respected and feared.  
He tried to fight it, several sniffles sounding from him as he attempted to breathe the inevitable sobs back in and hold them down but this battle was lost and this was a tide he could not hold back.  
Moments later Javert broke completely, this grown man renowned for his heart of stone broke down, his great sobs clearly audible, his chains rattling as his body shook with anguished tears.  
He wanted it all back, his job, his uniform, his life, his liberty, his pride, his dignity, his self respect.  
All of these things he had lost.  
His sobs increased and his tears flowed freely, his restrained arms preventing him from raising a hand to wipe them away.  
Never in his adult life had Javert sobbed so hard. He was a man who subdued all feelings, believing emotional outbursts to be counterproductive, and yet he knelt here sobbing in his chains like a child, the torrent of tears and sobs flowing forth in an outpouring of grief at the depth of his falling.  
The dizziness grew, becoming almost too much as his balance span, his breath almost choking due to his hard sobs and he felt himself swaying, held upright only by the grip of the chains.  
One more icy shiver coursed through his pained body, chilling him to his very bones in spite of the sweat that drenched him. His agonised back spasmed from the stress the position placed on his muscles and spine and he felt his heart skip a beat, his weakened body reaching breaking point, unable to cope with anything more being asked of it.  
"I... cannot... go... on...", he choked through his sobs as he felt increasingly faint, "No more... No...".  
Before he could voice anything further Javert collapsed entirely, his body finally failing him, his chains holding him in position like an unconscious puppet held up only by its strings.  
His head hung bowed in his unconscious state with his hair hanging loose and his collar remaining at such an angle that it held his neck without strangling him.  
His body fell entirely limp, even his fingers falling loose and his mouth dropping open. Almost lifeless was his appearance were it not for the shallowest of weakened breathing.  
Such was the extent of his mind and body's collapse into absolute helplessness that a patch of warm wetness began to seep through his ragged trousers and spread slowly down his legs, his traumatised body left in such shock that control of even the most basic of functions was lost as he hung unconscious in his chains.  
Eighteen months after his arrival, Javert had broken.

End chapter 6.


	7. I have bought your soul for God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cosette must pick up the pieces after Javert's devastating attack of madness.  
> Unable to watch her new friend suffer any longer, a decision has to be made... But first one person remains to be persuaded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, apologies for the late update.  
> A few real life things have distracted me. Nothing serious but just life's little niggles that have left me not really feeling like writing.
> 
> Secondly, the time has come to introduce one Marius Pontmercy to the story.  
> I visualise him as being none other than the Marius of Michael Ball.  
> I hope I have written him suitably soppy yet believable.
> 
> Thirdly, I am not including all of the characters that reside in the Pontmercy household since A) it would just make everything too 'busy' and B) readers who are stage version only won't know who they all are.
> 
> Please enjoy and stay with us and I love comments of encouragement :)

Broken Man - Chapter 7.

"I have bought your soul for God"

She sensed something was dreadfully wrong the moment she had arrived.  
Cosette had been walking towards the main gate of the asylum having been dropped off by a fiacre, her head filled with things to say to and share with Javert.  
As was usual she had been eager to check on his health and ask him if the blankets had kept him warm enough throughout the night.  
Once more she carried more ingredients in her basket to mix into a porridge for him to eat.  
She had been greatly encouraged yesterday upon knowing that he had eaten. Deep within her Cosette felt a tremendous honour at the memory of Javert, weakened through his illness, allowing her to feed him.  
She knew how painful it must have been for him to both require and allow this, yet she felt honoured that a man such as Javert had placed his trust in her for such an undignified task.  
She had thought as she walked, suspecting that Javert would be stronger today. She hoped very much that he had followed her instructions to drink plenty and rest, get plenty of sleep and little by little regain his strength.  
Today she would check how he was and see if perhaps his painful back would allow him to sit on the stool that had been provided, so that he could be mostly free from the chill of the ground.  
Today Cosette felt she wanted nothing more than to simply talk with Javert, to keep him company, give encouragement to his recovery and aid his tired spirits.  
Javert had on a previous occasion agreed to tell Cosette stories of her Papa, of the Valjean he had known over the years. She had been warned that these may not be pleasant stories but she was eager to hear them, to know of the Papa who had raised her before his encounter with the Bishop of Digne. It would, Cosette felt, add even more meaning and depth to what she knew of her Papa's redemption.  
Her ulterior motive, she forced herself to admit, was that telling the tale would give Javert something to focus on, to think about other than his illness and incarceration.  
The whimsical ideas skipping through Cosette's mind shuddered to a halt, blowing away like dust on the wind when a guard approached her as she entered the main gate.  
It was as if he had been posted there deliberately to watch for her, stepping forward to intercept her as he saw her and calling out "Madame Pontmercy... Madame Pontmercy!".  
Cosette's heart leapt within her as she heard his words, a dread rising from the pit of her stomach as she listened.  
"There's been a problem with Monsieur Javert. Please Madame, come this way at once...".

 

The words had been spoken to Cosette gently yet factually, Monsieur Loiselet spoke tactfully yet truthfully as he reported to her the events of the long night just past.  
The cheerful demeanour Cosette had set out with now lay crushed, her plans and hopes falling into disarray where she now sat, seated again at the desk of Monsieur Loiselet's orderly office.  
Monsieur Loiselet shuffled some papers in his hands, the report filed by the guard commander describing the incident and offered it across the desk dropping it in front of Cosette.  
"For your reading pleasure".  
Cosette sat silently at the desk, all of a sudden feeling as if she were very small, as if she were the child summoned to the Mother Superiors' office to be chastised for a transgression.  
The descriptions had been enough to unnerve her disposition as Monsieur Loiselet had read the report aloud.  
"I've seen him suffer his madness many times before but what occurred last night was beyond anything I deemed him capable of", Monsieur Loiselet shook his head in dismay at the sheer scale of the disturbance, "Three men injured, one seriously".  
Cosette's body stiffened where she sat, a dreadful cold washing over her as she listened, violence being something she found utterly distasteful.  
"Will your men be alright?", she asked in the meakest of voices, dreading the answer and feeling herself to be partially responsible.  
"One guard is badly concussed, one guard's nose was broken", Monsieur Loiselet reeled off the list of injuries, "Marcel, the guard most seriously injured, suffered a broken shoulder and will remain in the hospital for some time. Wether he returns at all will depend on how well the injury heals".  
Cosette was numb, the details striking her a blow as if she herself had been punched.  
She bit her lip, listening to the words and feeling grave concern for the wellbeing of the injured men.  
"All good men Madame", Monsieur Loiselet tapped his fingers on his desk, "I am not saying we have not had incidents before, this is an asylum after all and these inmates are unpredictable. Three months ago Gerard, the man who occupies the cell next to Javert, headbutted a guard inspecting his chains. He broke the guards jaw. My men accept danger, it is a part of this job, but last nights incident went beyond what is acceptable. Javert was wild, completely out of control".  
Cosette lifted her head with a terrible sadness in her eyes and looked to Monsieur Loiselet, this man she had known to be both firm and disciplined but also patient and fair.  
"I am so terribly sorry for the harm caused to your men. If there is anything at all I can do to help them I most certainly will", genuine concern permeated Cosettes voice as she spoke before breaking off.  
She looked down as if nervously unsure of wether to speak on, her feet shuffling with unease within her shoes.  
"Monsieur Loiselet, if I may please ask...", her voice tiny as if she were out of her depth, "...may I please know how Javert is? Is he alright? Has he been hurt? May I please see him?".  
Nervously Cosette fell silent, feeling almost rude at having changed the subject from the injured guards to enquiring of the health of the perpetrator.  
Monsieur Loiselet sat back in his chair, breathing out a sigh.  
This was not what he had expected to face when he had arrived today.  
"You will be relieved to hear Madame Pontmercy that Javert is, with the exception of minor scrapes and bruises, physically uninjured", Monsieur Loiselet explained, "but he has been heavily restrained to prevent him harming himself and others".  
Cosette cast her eyes down, the report having made clear the details of Javert's frenzied attempts at breaking his own neck with the collar and chain.  
"He must have suffered such turmoil, he cannot have known what he was doing...", she said in a wavering voice, her heart aching and her mind completely unable to imagine the events which had occurred, "I only wish I had known, I would have been here and perhaps been able to calm him".  
"He would have flattened you too along with my men", Monsieur Loiselet dismissed the suggestion as folly.  
"You do not know that for sure", Cosette politely disagreed.  
"What makes you so certain?", Monsieur Loiselet queried.  
"He trusts me", Cosette simply stated, "I have seen past his defences, his pride and his supposed madness".  
"Really?", asked Monsieur Loiselet dismissively, "and what did you find?".  
Cosette took in a breath.  
"I found a man who is so dreadfully alone and so terribly frightened, by both himself and his circumstances. This of course is something he would never admit to".  
Monsieur Loiselet sat back in surprise at the answer.  
He waited several moments, an eyebrow raised as he considered Cosette's answer.  
"You still do not believe he is truly mad do you?", he asked.  
Cosette shook her head, certain in her gut feeling.  
"The man in the next cell, Gerard? I met him before I met Javert, when I delivered my blankets to those housed here", she began, "He recounted Bible verses over and over, said that if he did not then the Devil would spring forth upon France".  
"He believes he's an Angel or something, on a mission", Monsieur Loiselet explained.  
"Exactly, and the man in the first cell, believes that none of this is real and that it is all a rouse by the English?", Cosette continued her examples, "These men are closer to what I would define as madness".  
Monsieur Loiselet stroked his chin, listening.  
"And Javert?", he asked.  
Cosette sighed, considering the observations and inevitable conclusions she had drawn in the time she had grown to know Javert.  
"He is not mad, he is broken. There is a big difference", Cosette stated in firm belief of her words, "He was a man of great honour and dignity, firm in his beliefs, utmost in his rigidity and unwilling to accept any failures on his part. And then after decades of maintaining this severity of nature he broke and is haunted terribly by lingering memories of his attempt at taking his life".  
Monsieur Loiselet listened, finding the words interesting to hear but refusing to accept any justification that may be made for the attack on his guards.  
"There has to be more to it than that", Monsieur Loiselet insisted, "Throughout the months he has been held here he has often in his madness shouted, cried out words, threats, pleas... All directed at the same name time and time again. Sometimes he just howls the name on its own over and over... Baljon or Valjon, or something like that. It's like listening to a crying wolf howling in the night".  
Cosette fell silent.  
She had been fully aware that thoughts of her Papa, of Jean Valjean, plagued Javert.  
Only the day previous had he repeatedly turned the tide of conversation to asking her what her Papa would have made of their situation.  
Cosette only now realised just how directly linked to her Papa all Javert's anxieties were.  
"Do you know the name?", Monsieur Loiselet enquired with interest.  
Cosette sighed, once more she would attempt to tell the truth from an angle that answered the question without shedding light on who her Papa was.  
"The name is Valjean", she corrected and steeled herself for what had to be said next despite the sour taste the words would leave, "he was a criminal, branded a dangerous man, one Javert dedicated many years to the pursuit of and encountered many times".  
"I see... one that got away eh?",  
Monsieur Loiselet guessed.  
"He and Javert had...", Cosette searched her vocabulary for the right words, "...considerable history".  
Monsieur Loiselet sighed, feeling a sympathy for this girls desire to help yet silently wondering wether her actions were causing a hinderance. It was interesting, he made a mental note, that she had dropped the title 'Inspector' and now referred to him informally as simply 'Javert'.  
He filed the thought away in the back of his mind and returned to considerations of the present situation.  
During the eighteen months he had been held at the asylum neither Monsieur Loiselet nor any of the guards had found Javert troublesome, defiant or disrespectful in any way.  
He granted that despite his exterior being as unemotional as granite, it was clear Javert had not adapted well to his incarceration.  
He knew where he was and understood where he was, this itself was unusual in an inmate.  
He knew that during attacks of his madness Javert wailed and cried out, pulling desperately on his chains like a man who's mission was not yet fulfilled.  
He also knew that during his calmer times Javert simply sat silent in his chains unmoving like a statue carved from stone and misery.  
Other inmates often put up a fight, refusing to obey even the simplest instruction due to their lack of comprehension or the voices rampaging in their heads.  
Javert had always been different.  
On the occasions when Monsieur Loiselet had entered his cell to inspect his chains he had found Javert to be nothing but obedient in the most self disciplined of manors.  
Silent, desolate and shattered, but utterly obedient toward his authority.  
Cosette cleared her throat, quietly drawing Monsieur Loiselet from his thoughts.  
"Monsieur...", she spoke with a voice that was gentle yet aware of the importance of that which she must ask, "...may I please see him?".  
Monsieur Loiselet took a deep breath and looked at Cosette in consideration of the request before breathing out.  
The request was unusual and therefore no procedure existed. Inmates rarely had visitors as friends and family either didn't exist or, more often, no longer wished to be associated with one condemned to such a place.  
Monsieur Loiselet thought, weighing up wether allowing a visit would reward bad behaviour, or wether there was a chance it could bring calm.  
The last thought circling his mind was that of wether a young lady should be permitted near such a man after the events which had occurred.  
It was not right for a young lady to witness a man in Javert's current state, nor was it correct to subject her to the possible risk he may still pose.  
"I cannot permit any harm to come to you Madame, last night he was wild, out of control", Monsieur Loiselet answered, "my priority is to minimise risk to guards, visitors and wether you believe it or not, the inmates. I cannot risk further agitating him".  
"But you said he is restrained", Cosette protested, "I may not agree with that but I simply must see him, I must make sure he is alright, that he is not hurt and comfort him if necessary".  
Cosette's eyes were pleading, desperate for the decision to fall in her favour.  
Her mind was in constant motion with a surge of worries regarding Javert.  
She knew from experience that his 'madness' rendered him helpless amid the surge of uncontrollable dark thoughts that overpowered him.  
It was akin to a storm surge pushing inwards, overpowering and submerging everything before it prior to pulling out and leaving nothing but devastation.  
Cosette found that her concern lay not in the madness that had occurred, but in the damage it had inevitably left behind.  
She looked to Monsieur Loiselet, her eyes like those of a child pleading to be allowed something forbidden.  
"I believe I can get through to him...", Cosette urged, "...please let me try?".  
"Damn your persistence", Monsieur Loiselet breathed out and shook his head in defeat.  
Cosette allowed herself a moment of hope, sensing the decision had been made.  
"Alright you may see him. But be warned...", Monsieur Loiselet became serious, "...I have no idea of his current mental state, nor do I know how he may react to your presence".  
"Thank you!", Cosette's voice faltered with relief upon the granting of her request.

 

The walk to Javert's lonely cell was filled with trepidation and with every step Cosette felt her apprehension grow tenfold.  
She walked with Monsieur Loiselet by her side, her thoughts lost in considerations of what she could possibly say to Javert.  
The bond they had formed was real yet still fragile, the trust they shared becoming deep yet still cautious.  
This deep trust, Cosette considered fearfully, was something that was not to be taken for granted.  
Depending on what she was about to find this trust could very well be smashed with an incorrect approach, an ill-chosen word or a failure to understand Javert's fragility.  
Before Cosette knew it the walk to the cell door was over.  
Cosette's heart thumped, her nerves rising within her as Monsieur Loiselet unlocked the heavy door and unfastened it's bolts.  
Once the door was pushed open Cosette took a cautious step in.  
She was unsure of what to expect, understanding as she did all that had occurred during the night.  
As usual her eyes took a moment to adjust to the contrast of light entering through the tiny window and the darkness of the rest of the cell which the window forbade the light from touching.  
Cosette's first realisation was that of a silence that was almost deafening in the absolute.  
Her assumption had been that she would enter into the cell and be met by the ravings of a 'mad man' shaking to free himself from his chains.  
Within moments Cosette's vision began to adjust and her dread rose upon surveying the scene.  
Directly before her lay Javert's blankets, strewn haphazardly across the ground. The stool lay on it's side accompanied by torn pages of the newspaper she had left him having been stepped on during the struggle.  
Two knocked over water cups gave further indication of the disturbance that had occurred.  
Monsieur Loiselet stepped in slowly behind Cosette, observing as she took in the scene before her but remaining respectfully silent, waiting for the inevitable moment she would lay her eyes upon the man she had become so inexplicably attached to.  
Suddenly a gasp escaped Cosette and she clasped her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide and her eyebrows raised in horror.  
Her body jerked in sudden shock as she turned her head and saw him, as if a great sound from nowhere had startled her.  
"Oh dear God!", she breathed out, lowering her hands from her mouth as she looked.  
Slowly and cautiously she stepped nearer, her mouth still open in disbelief at the sight before her.  
"Careful...", Monsieur Loiselet cautioned as he stepped in slowly, maintaining a discreet distance behind Cosette but not preventing her advance.  
Cosette disregarded the warning, dismissing the words before her mind had even processed them.  
Her eyes were focused on one sight only as she stepped nearer with the gentlest steps she could manage, trying her hardest to approach without startling him.  
She moved in carefully, observing Javert's chained and cowed form before her.  
The chains had held him firm throughout the night just as the guard commander had surmised hours earlier when he had first conceived and improvised this variation of the martingale.  
Cosette had arrived this morning expecting to find Javert asleep or at least resting under his blankets.  
She had hoped very much that he would be able to report that he had managed a decent nights sleep and that maybe, just maybe, he would be feeling slightly stronger.  
Instead the sight before Cosette appalled her.  
Javert remained on his knees, the right side of his limp body leant against the cold wall.  
He was once again fastened by his collar to the short chain hanging from the wall but this time Cosette noticed the difference.  
She stood next to him and gently lowered herself to quietly examine his bonds, noting that a rope was now also tied to the front of his collar and extending downwards, between his legs and secured tightly to his newly reapplied ankle shackles.  
Cosette felt herself feeling increasingly reviled as she realised that this held Javert in a position knelt partly bent over on his knees, the collar chain preventing him leaning fully over and the rope preventing him rising.  
Finally she looked to his back and noted his wrists shackled behind his back, a rope securing his ankle chain to his wrist chain preventing further struggles.  
"It was necessary...", Monsieur Loiselet said from where he stood some distance behind Cosette as he watched her shake her head in disapproval.  
She moved herself to stand before Javert and looked to Monsieur Loiselet.  
"Why?", she simply asked, "Why?".  
"I'm afraid it was as I said necessary", Monsieur Loiselet replied softly yet factually to the young lady stood before him.  
Cosette's expression was changing rapidly, from one of initial horror to one of absolute heartbreak for this man she had come to respect who now knelt broken before her.  
"He must be released from this", Cosette pleaded, "He is terribly ill and he suffers greatly from pain in his back".  
"I cannot do that", Monsieur Loiselet shook his head, "He has to learn that he cannot just attack my guards at will, that there are consequences".  
Cosette's eyes began to moisten at the powerlessness she began to feel.  
"Monsieur Loiselet this is not a prison", she reminded him and began to lower herself before Javert.  
A hand stopped her as Monsieur Loiselet stepped forward, grasping her shoulder and causing her to start suddenly.  
"Forgive my impertinence Madame but before you get too close and dirty your clothing...".  
Discreetly Monsieur Loiselet whispered into Cosette's ear then nodded downward bringing Cosette's attention to the now cold wetness of Javert's ragged trousers.  
"That is how much he lost control last night", Monsieur Loiselet explained, "once his fight left him he collapsed in his chains, so far gone his - forgive my course language - his body couldn't even stop him pissing himself once he fainted".  
Cosette's lip quivered as she stared down at Javert before her, uncertainty abounding within her as to what she should do or say.  
This was new.  
She had tended him while sick, and comforted him when distressed but she had never before seen a man so truly broken.  
The sight before her did not match that of the tall and ferocious man described in her Papa's writings.  
She took a deep breath, fighting hard to hold back the stream of tears she felt could so easily be released at the pity she felt.  
Again, and non judgementally, she lowered herself before him desperately hoping for a movement yet feeling almost rude at disturbing him and bringing him back into the clutches of both sickness and pain.  
Javert's head hung from his collar in a manner almost lifeless, his bedraggled hair hanging loose.  
If he was awake it did not show.  
Cosette gently reached out, her hand shaking as she did so and pushed his hair once again behind his ear.  
Deep concern building within her Cosette brought herself to her knees, lowering her face to try and glimpse Javert's own face from the position in which his body hung bowed before her.  
"Javert?", she called gently and placed the most gentle of touches to his cold shoulder.  
Gently she squeezed with a reassuring human touch that spoke of kindness not violence.  
"Javert?", she said again quietly, "It's Cosette...".  
She paused momentarily, unsure of what to say.  
"I'm here Javert", she slowly moved her hand from his shoulder and reached for his face.  
Gently she brushed the back of her fingers down his cheek, hoping the touch of another person might rouse one as readily alert as Javert.  
"You're safe", she whispered, "I won't let anybody harm you".  
It was very faint.  
A sound so quiet Cosette almost missed it.  
A near silent change in breath.  
She looked closer.  
His mouth moved but no sound came, just a slight movement.  
"Javert?", Cosette once more placed her hand to his shoulder, grasping him with a touch that was both firm and gentle, the reassuring touch of an ally who would not desert him.  
Once more he stirred, as if the very act of waking back to reality was itself a painful struggle.  
"Water and a cloth please!", Cosette urged turning quickly to Monsieur Loiselet, "Please!".  
Sensing Javert was in no state to cause further disturbance Monsieur Loiselet complied, nodding his head before abruptly leaving the cell.  
Cosette continued to gently squeeze Javert's shoulder, feeling the cold underneath the rags that adorned his body until Monsieur Loiselet returned moments later with the requested cloth and a small bowl filled with water.  
"Thank you", she responded as a matter of courtesy as she took hold of both the items and placed them before her.  
Briskly she picked up the cloth, dabbing it in the cool water.  
Monsieur Loiselet stepped back, returning to stand by the door at a distance.  
Carefully Cosette looked to Javert and raised the damp cloth to Javert's face as his head hung facing down before her.  
He was cold to the touch this morning but Cosette hoped that the sensation of cool water touching his face might give encouragement to rouse him.  
His hair having been moved aside, Cosette dabbed the cloth gently onto his forehead, allowing the water to trickle slightly down his face before dabbing it away again.  
"Please wake Javert...", she quietly urged as she again dabbed the cloth in the water before this time dabbing it slowly down his cheek, again allowing the water to trickle slightly.  
Once more a change in breath broke Javert's silence. A sharp breath of air breathed in of the sort one would make upon experiencing sudden pain.  
"Javert?", Cosette spoke quietly but concerned.  
The breath was expelled just as sharply as it had been inhaled.  
She placed her left hand on the shoulder directly opposite her, gripping him as if she were attempting to prevent him drifting away while her right hand continued to dab his face with the cool water.  
His body remained limp as he hung powerless, Cosette urging him to wake by the grip from her hand and wishing she could transfer a little of her own strength into him via this touch.  
The pained breath came again and Cosette looked carefully to his downward facing face.  
Her heart leapt as she observed his barely open eyes.  
His eyelids were open as barely more than slits, his face hanging downwards toward the ground.  
"Javert?", Cosette called gently, "Javert can you hear me?".  
His eyes looked to the ground, unfocused and puffy, the whites of his eyes seeming pink and bloodshot.  
Cosette observed closer as she once more dabbed his face, noticing the dried lines that trailed down his face from his eyes to his beard.  
Her own eyes once more welled up and her lip wobbled as she recognised the lines for what they were - the trails left by a great many tears that had been shed during the night, Javert's restrained wrists unable the wipe them from his face of stone.  
Another breath, one that was more of a pained whimper sounded as his strained muscles awoke with him.  
In response Cosette began to feel a sensation of panic grow within her and her stomach knotted unsure of what she should do.  
"Please Javert", she pleaded as she dropped the cloth onto the ground and took hold of him by both shoulders, "Please tell me you can hear me, please, anything".  
Cosette felt Javert as his body tensed under her touch as if trying to move but failing through lack of strength, restraint or a combination of the two.  
"Cos...", he whispered, his eyes barely remaining open  
"Yes it's me", she reassured him, "it's Cosette, I am here, I promise I am here".  
Again he breathed out in a whimper followed by a sound from his voice that made no word but only sounded of pain.  
"I will not leave you", she assured him, her pulse racing in anxiety at the sound of pain coming from him.  
With a shudder Javert suddenly coughed harshly, the cough continuing for some moments and prompting Cosette to lean forward and rub his convulsing back, desperate to sooth the cough that only served to increase the pain he suffered in this position.  
Placing her arms around him as best she could she rubbed and patted his back before the cough quietened then subsided once more, Javert again falling limp in his restraints and gasping in a great inhalation of air as he recovered his breath only to have the pull of the collar choke it from him.  
His entire body shuddered with every breath as if breathing itself were a tremendous effort.  
Suddenly he gagged, the collar pulling hard against his tired throat and windpipe, his weight resting uneasily within it now he had awoken and the cough having disturbed it.  
Struggling for breath he attempted to pull himself weakly up but the rope holding him down equally tightly defeated his every action, it's length pulled tight from Javert's collar to his ankle shackles.  
Cosette moved, recognising both his distress and confusion and again taking hold of his shoulders in an attempt to take some of the burden of Javert's weight off his collar so that he might breathe easier.  
His weakened body was an almost dead weight and he struggled not to gag in an attempt to take the weight from his neck chain, the rope defeating every attempt.  
"Enough", Cosette shook her head in decision.  
As Javert choked Cosette's fingers moved to his collar, reaching for where the rope had been bound to it.  
The binding was tight where it had been tied securely by the guard commander in the early hours but after much trying Cosette's fingers eventually moved it loose.  
The seconds felt like an eternity but the rope eventually came loose, dropping to the floor.  
The releasing of the rope allowed Javert to fall limp against the wall once more, now free to hang by his collar chain in such a way that did not choke him any longer.  
Cosette watched him before leaning in and gently assisting him in sitting up straighter, pushing him up slowly by his shoulders until he was able to lean his weight, slackening the chain and allowing the wall to hold him up.  
His strength sapped, Javert leant his head against the wall where he remained knelt side on against it.  
Javert's eyes closed slowly in exhaustion before slowly forcing themselves open as much as they could.  
Cosette noted some healing to his bruised eye and that it joined the other eye in opening.  
"Javert?", Cosette again called, "Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?".  
His half open eyes looked downwards, his pupils focused on nothing while a tremble remained clearly visible through his body.  
Once more his mouth moved, his voice gruff and broken, holding it's distinctive tone but the words were unclear as they passed his dry lips.  
"Am...", he paused to allow a slow breath, "Is... this...".  
Cosette moved her face nearer to his as she knelt, unsure wether Javert was weak, delirious or both.  
"Javert relax, take a deep breath", she urged him, wishing that she could place a reassuring hand on his own were they not shackled behind his back.  
"Sshhh...", she soothed, placing her hand instead on his upper arm and watching as he attempted to comply with the words she had spoken.  
Javert breathed in slowly, then out, then another slow breath in, then again out, his eyes all the time remaining unfocused and cloudy.  
Finally his body shuffled, his discomfort clear to see but his restraints preventing much movement.  
A sound of chains rattled as he weakly made an attempt to move his arms, a second attempt trying harder after the failure of the first.  
Cosette increased her grasp on his arm, hoping to gain the focus of his attention.  
"Don't struggle", she pleaded, "they chained your wrists again, this time behind your back".  
Javert audibly breathed out, the breath sounding to Cosette as indistinguishable from defeat and despair.  
His eyes finally looked up, tracing the direction of the voice and the source of the person holding his arm.  
His pupils altered as they tried hard to focus, the image of Cosette becoming slowly clearer to Javert's vision.  
He spoke once more, his mouth moving but his voice too broken to force out words.  
"I can't understand you", Cosette felt a terrible sadness as she spoke, knowing Javert was trying his hardest to communicate something and watching as his bloodshot eyes became moist.  
She leant forward placing her ear next to his mouth.  
"Please", she urged him, "try again".  
For a moment Javert waited, allowing his body to wait for the strength to attempt another breath.  
"Cosette...", he finally said in a whisper filled with a terrible desperation.  
"Yes", Cosette replied thankful that he had finally communicated, "I am here Javert".  
"...Is this death? ...Damnation?", he finally spoke his deepest fears in a broken whisper, "...Am I.. Am I in Hell?".  
Cosette pulled back, shocked at the absurdity of the question but seeing now just how broken and confused Javert's madness had this time left him.  
He again leant his head against the wall, one solitary tear slowly escaping his left eye and leaving a moist trail as it moved slowly down his exhausted face.  
He had never before cried openly in front of her.  
"No Javert... no", Cosette replied gently in answer as she raised herself higher on her knees.  
She cupped one hand over his cheek and wiped the tear away with her thumb, all the while noting how soulless and dim his eyes now appeared as if a fire once burning within them had been extinguished.  
Javert would, Cosette considered, normally recoil from such human touch and this caused within Cosette a feeling of dread.  
It was if physical contact either no longer bothered him or he no longer cared.  
Cosette suspected that she knew which it was.  
"Javert listen to me. Focus...", she urged.  
She removed her hand from his face and clicked her fingers before his eyes, fighting for his drifting attention to remain entirely on her.  
"Javert you are alive, you are in the asylum, in Paris, do you remember?", she recounted, "Last night you suffered an attack of the thoughts that haunt you, you lost control... Do you remember any of it?".  
Javert remained still, his eyes struggling to remain focused on the blur that was Cosette.  
His memories were a whirl, patchy and consisting of images that made little sense.  
"Toulon...", he recalled in his whisper, "...a riot".  
He stopped, a portion of his mind telling him that this made no sense, that this could not be because Toulon was so long ago in his past.  
More memories followed, blurred.  
A fight, no, more of a brawl.  
He was outnumbered.  
A national guardsman had been strangling him.  
But... A national guardsman would not be at Toulon?  
The guardsman had spoken words as he throttled him.  
"Valjean!", Javert's eyes widened in sudden alarm, "Valjean was here! He was here!".  
Cosette once more took Javert by the shoulders firmly, understanding that she had to remain in control if he were to break free of his muddled thoughts.  
"No Javert, think! Remember!", Cosette spoke louder as if forcing herself to be heard over his minds disjointed rambling, "Valjean is dead, remember! Jean Valjean was my Papa and he is dead. Please Javert, please fight this".  
A focus slowly and with great effort returned to Javert's eyes and he looked directly at Cosette, his eyes fixed firmly upon her face as he sorted vague and distorted thoughts.  
"He said I used you", Javert recalled, "He was right... I have become weak...useless...".  
Cosette squeezed his shoulders with her hands.  
She wanted to shake him, to wake him from his deeply groggy state.  
It was clear to Cosette that Javert had suffered a deeply traumatic attack of his 'madness' during the night, worse than the usual avalanche of dark thoughts she had witnessed him endure on previous occasions.  
"Sedative...", she wondered to herself under her breath.  
Javert looked to her silently, listening in exhaustion.  
"Javert were you asleep when these thoughts started?".  
Slowly he nodded, aware in his confused memories that he had been resting the day previous.  
"I...", he paused to allow his slow thought process to catch up, "...I do not recall waking... dreams, waking... all a blur".  
"The sedative", Cosette looked down momentarily and cursed, "You must have been too drugged to wake from your nightmares. Oh goodness, you must have woken into a waking nightmare".  
Javert said nothing and remained watching Cosette for some time from where he leant.  
"Then this is real", he finally spoke, his head lowering with a desolate exhalation of breath and a rustle of his neck chain as he accepted that this circumstance was real and would not be woken from.  
Once more his arms shuffled, his frustration clear at having his wrists chained behind his back out of use.  
"Cosette...", he looked up as his usual demeanour of seriousness returned to his face with a slight clearing of his mind.  
"Yes?", Cosette answered, encouraged evermore by Javert's slowly returning coherence.  
"I pride myself on standing strong...", speaking was still a considerable effort despite summoning the dregs of his strength, "...I have had to all my life".  
"I know", Cosette acknowledged, "...I know".  
His hunters eyes focused sharp, alert, urgent as they locked onto Cosette's own as if grasping.  
"Tell me", he urged, "tell me, how much more do they think I can endure?".  
Cosette looked away momentarily, closing her eyes as if shielding herself from Javert's words.  
Hearing his once powerful voice ask this, the man clearly pushed to his breaking point made Cosette feel terribly uncomfortable.  
Her pride would not allow her to willingly admit it, not even to herself, but for the first time since vowing to aid Javert Cosette felt truly out of her depth.  
Every time she strove to help him he made definite progress.  
Yet it seemed that every time he made progress something inevitably knocked him back.  
Sickness, 'madness', and the asylum treating his condition by simply chaining him like a dog out of control all conspired to beat him down.  
It seemed to Cosette that everything she tried was doomed to meet with a dead end.  
She was she felt beginning to lose hope just as much as Javert had.  
Once more she looked to him, curiously eyeing his collar and slowly moving a hand toward it.  
Javert did not recoil and remained still as his eyes cautiously observed her.  
Gently she touched it, adjusting it slightly to reveal bruising hidden beneath it.  
Cosette's heart broke a little more as she looked at the dark marks discolouring his neck.  
"They said you tried to break your neck", she said very quietly, unable to add anything further to her sentence.  
The bruises spoke clearly for themselves as a statement of the out of control desperation Javert had hit during the night.  
Javert looked away briefly, perhaps in shame, Cosette could not tell from his expression.  
"In the same circumstances, and after all this time, would you not consider the same?", Javert responded with a voice both grave and bleak, "to break the neck assures a quick death. I have seen such in my time".  
Cosette stifled her tears as best she could, Javert's words ringing through her mind like thunder.  
"Please stop...", she spoke, her voice crumbling into terrible sadness.  
This time it was Javert who looked to Cosette, his pained eyes watching as the tears began to fall down her cheeks.  
"I have upset you...", he cast his eyes down in shame.  
His arms once again tugged at the shackles behind his back, their chains preventing him from actively making the first humane gesture of his adult life as he felt the need to reach out and wipe the tears from Cosette's face.  
He tugged once more at the chain before surrendering to their cold grasp on his wrists.  
Neither said anything for some moments, the silence being penetrated by Cosette's sniffling as she stifled her sobs.  
Javert's chains clinked as he attempted to shuffle forward on his scuffed knees, feeling unease at Cosette's tears and cursing his broken self for speaking aloud such morbid thoughts.  
"Javert...", a voice called in warning clearly and firmly from the doorway.  
Monsieur Loiselet had remained, observing from the doorway yet keeping a respectful distance to allow Cosette to speak to Javert unhindered.  
"Do not upset the lady", the voice reminded, the authority within its tone indicating that this was an order not a request.  
Javert closed his eyes briefly, gritting his teeth behind his closed lips and recalling the beating he had received the last time he had upset Cosette.  
He exhaled defeatedly, yielding to authority, his attempt at shuffling just a little had failed as he realised that his legs refused to comply.  
Being knelt in his forced position all night on this stone cold floor had he realised deadened his legs.  
Sagging into his collar chain he observed Cosette.  
"Do not cry", he urged, "you are free. You can leave at any time.".  
Aching, he flexed his fingers, the prickling of pins and needles bristling through his hands caused by the rope that secured his wrist shackles close to his ankle shackles.  
The act of waking and movement had applied pressure against the rope which pulled constantly on the wrist shackles.  
He coughed once more, wincing at the pain both the cough and his position caused to jolt through his back.  
"Oh dear God when will this end?", he cried out in frustration, an indecipherable agonised groan following his words as his back muscles spasmed and he pulled at his restraints.  
"Something must be done", Cosette moved forward, easing Javert once more to rest his weight against the stone wall.  
Momentarily Javert held his breath and gritted his teeth as another surge of pain engulfed his frail back, his body tensed and his restrained hands balled into fists.  
"Shhh... It's alright", Cosette once more held his shoulder, "if you need to cry out then do, there is no shame".  
His eyes screwed tightly shut and his teeth bared as his back tormented him, the pain surging through his spine as if it were on fire.  
"Let it all be damned, I can take no more!", he shouted in a guttural tone consisting of both growl and snarl.  
He fell forward, attempting to obey his back which demanded that his body curl up to relieve the pain.  
The neck chain refused to allow such a thing and Cosette moved quickly forward, catching hold of him.  
For moments she silently held him as he leant into her, the gesture relieving somewhat the pressure from his tormented back.  
His face lay buried into her shoulder, Cosette placing her arms around him and embracing him as much as her small built form could.  
His voice moaning lowly and constantly in pain was audible to her ear and her tears continued to roll down her face as she shared the pain and despair of her Papa's old nemesis.  
"Cosette...", he spoke after a long moan, the word whispered into her ear close by as his body was embraced.  
Quiet footsteps slowly approached, clearly those of Monsieur Loiselet.  
Cosette embraced Javert closer upon hearing her name, his body and rags colder than usual and his misery increased tenfold.  
He was sickened, exhausted, and now utterly broken in both body and mind and his rags, damp with his own involuntary piss served to make him only colder.  
The gravity of the situation hit Cosette as she considered this incredibly unlikely situation.  
She, the daughter of Jean Valjean, sitting in an asylum for the insane cradling her Papa's tormented great foe Inspector Javert.  
It scarcely seemed believable.  
"Cosette...", he whispered after one more surge of pain, a surge she felt through the shudder of his entire body.  
"Please...", Javert urged.  
"Anything", Cosette replied in full honesty, willing to do or try anything to relieve his pain and discomfort.  
Another guttural growl of pain came from his distinctive voice.  
"Please help me...", he paused breathless, his greying hair falling forwards and his eyes staring transfixed into a distance of nothing in sheer pain "Please help me...or kill me".  
His body shook once more, wracked by the surge of his cough but also of something else - the subtle shudders of a man fighting to suppress his tears.  
Cosette held him tight, feeling her own heart pounding within her as it reacted in horror to Javert's pleading.  
"They can make it appear an accident...or failed escape...", he gasped a breath as he was held, "...no one would investigate a death here...".  
Slowly Cosette pulled back speechless, her hands remaining on Javert's shoulders steadying him until his side slumped once more against the wall.  
He looked downward, closing his eyes as if unable to bring himself to look to Cosette.  
Wiping away her own tears Cosette took a deep breath, her own shock at the desperate request almost overcoming her.  
She looked up to Monsieur Loiselet desperate for some form of intervention but no response came.  
Again she looked to Javert, his gaze focused forlorn on the ground.  
Cosette was truly on her own, her thoughts desperate and her morals imploring her to find a solution.  
Allowing Javert to die was out of the question.  
It was impossible she knew for herself to partake in, or to step back and allow another to cause the death of anyone.  
Her morals, her beliefs, her absolute faith all forbade such acts.  
With a gentle pat to Javert's shoulder Cosette rose to her feet and paced to the other side of the cell.  
She paused, aware that Monsieur Loiselet was keenly observing her and looked up at the small window high up above Javert outside of which lie the outside world he had not seen in almost two years.  
"Oh good Lord please grant me a solution", she begged quietly under her breath as she observed the clear sky through the window bars.  
"What would Papa do?", she asked herself, turning her back to Monsieur Loiselet to enable herself to be as alone as she could with her thoughts.  
Her Papa, she thought, would move the Earth itself if someone were in need.  
He had shown Javert mercy in the past and had taught Cosette the value of such acts from a young age.  
She stopped.  
After a moment she thought again of her Papa, his mercy and the lengths he had once gone to to help a tormented soul - The tormented soul of a child at an inn in Montfermeil.  
The acts of the past and her newfound obligation to Javert began to converge in her mind, mingling together into that which was becoming an idea.  
She turned, casting her eyes over Javert's tattered form before settling them firmly on Monsieur Loiselet.  
With a deep breath Cosette steeled herself and strode towards Monsieur Loiselet with a confidence inspired by thoughts of her Papa.  
"Monsieur Loiselet", she began, "I must ask, under what circumstances is it possible for an inmate to leave this place?".  
Monsieur Loiselet frowned, surprised at such a question.  
"Well... Death usually. They can't just walk out", he answered.  
"And there is no other way?", Cosette asked.  
Monsieur Loiselet paused before answering, looking to Cosette with suspicion.  
"There have been one or two occasions over the years, rare occasions, where an inmates family has reclaimed a person...", he hesitated, "but it is very rare, these people are sick, dangerous. People do not want the responsibility.".  
"I will take Javert", Cosette stood up straight, forcing herself to her full height and ensuring she held Monsieur Loiselet's gaze intently.  
"Madame!", Monsieur Loiselet exclaimed, "You cannot just walk in and take him, he is dangerous!".  
"No he is not", Cosette shook her head in full confidence of her answer.  
"He cannot be allowed to walk the streets! He was brought here suicidal! If you take him from here he will be dead within a week!", Monsieur Loiselet's voice was rising, his arms wide in gesticulation, "We do not keep these people here for fun! Yes he is under lock and key but we keep him safe!".  
"He is dying a little with each passing day!", Cosette too raised her voice, "I have signed to take responsibility for him and that is just what I intend to do".  
Monsieur Loiselet shook his head, trying to calm his temper before a lady.  
"You have a say in his conditions", he explained, "not a say in wether he is freed!".  
"Three thousand Francs...", Cosette simply stated.  
There was silence as the dispute halted abruptly, paused by the dropping of a financial incentive.  
"Pardon?", Monsieur Loiselet asked after several moments.  
Cosette turned to face Javert and nodded in his direction.  
"Three thousand Francs for his freedom, to do with as you wish", she reiterated, "Personally I would favour splitting it between your injured men as reparations".  
Monsieur Loiselet fell silent, momentarily dumbfounded by the audacity of that which he had just heard.  
"I...", Monsieur Loiselet spoke with an expression of confusion, "...I don't understand. Why would you do this?".  
Cosette sighed, allowing her stance to soften slightly as she turned back to Monsieur Loiselet.  
"Monsieur Javert is very important to me, to my family, to my life as I know it", she explained honestly, "I am honour bound to take care of him as best I can. I do believe he is damaged yes, but not mad. I will see to it that he gets rest, comfort and all the help my family can offer".  
Monsieur Loiselet watched Cosette with an eyebrow raised in interest.  
"If I may be so bold, you are a strange one Madame", Monsieur Loiselet admitted, "it is rare for anyone to care what happens to those here, let alone step forward to claim one into the midst of their own family".  
"It is mercy Monsieur", Cosette answered with simplicity.  
"How do you know he will not murder you in your bed?", Monsieur Loiselet asked.  
The question reminded Cosette of something she had read in her Papa's writings, something the Bishop of Digne had said when posed with a similar question regarding the scruffy convict who had arrived dishevelled on his doorstep one night.  
Cosette looked to Monsieur Loiselet, shrugged and answered simply, "How do you know I will not murder him?".  
Monsieur Loiselet breathed out, this most unusual past few hours having given him an ever increasing headache.  
"This is most irregular", he sighed in indecision, "most irregular indeed".  
The fact that this was not a no gave Cosette encouragement.  
She stepped forward again, eyes pleading and her goal in sight.  
"But this is not a prison", she reminded, "and Javert is not serving a sentence, he is a free man in the eyes of the law".  
"You oversimplify matters", Monsieur Loiselet moved away, stepping slowly nearer to Javert.  
"Monsieur Loiselet look at him", Cosette implored and gestured a hand towards Javert as he knelt slumped against the wall, his head hanging from his collar and his breathing almost tiresome, "he is sick, he is cold... I have never seen a man in the pit of such despair".  
Observing Javert, Monsieur Loiselet stepped toward him recalling the man who had been brought here from the hospital almost two years previously.  
The fiacre had arrived back having been summoned to the hospital that morning and two guards of the asylum had climbed out struggling to place their shoulders under the arms of the heavily drugged man they had been requested to collect.  
The man had long loose hair showing signs of greying with age and impressive whiskers aside his face.  
Once carried to the cell he had been unconsciously dressed in the ragged clothing he wore even now, the holes not yet having worn into them.  
Bandaging around his upper body indicated the now healing ribs that had cracked, it was surmised, as he had hit the water during his suicide attempt.  
Once chained he was left alone, his unyielding dignity initially refusing to be cowed as he sat for the first few weeks with his head upright and chin defiantly raised, refusing to be overcome by his circumstance and appearing as if nothing were wrong.  
But the madness eventually came again, causing his first outburst and rants.  
His chains were fought more frequently and with ever increasing desperation as the depth of his situation began to truly dawn upon him.  
Rage, snarls, growls and cries of "Valjean!" were often heard during the night as the tormented thoughts slowly became his lonesome companion in his isolation.  
Monsieur Loiselet considered the changes he had witnessed in Javert and how he had arrived troubled yet retaining an air of proud rigidity.  
This contrasted with the sight of the sickened man now knelt before him, a man who's own troubled thoughts had assaulted him like a tormentor and who now appeared far older than when he had arrived all those months ago.  
"I must admit that with his health as it is I cannot see him lasting another six months here. Given the damp and cold, I believe his chest infection will before long turn to pneumonia and he will die", Monsieur Loiselet spoke with a great reluctance to his voice before turning back to Cosette, "If freed from here he requires a warm bed, better food and most importantly someone willing to shoulder the burden of making him well again... In both body and mind".  
"I can provide this!", Cosette nodded her head encouragingly, a hopeful expression beginning to show upon her face, "Monsieur Loiselet, he is a good man. I beg of you to allow him his freedom so that he may regain his life, his dignity... His self".  
Monsieur Loiselet walked slowly toward Javert, stopping directly in front of him before bending down level to observe him in consideration.  
Javert remained knelt in his restrained position, his head once more hanging from his collar and his tired eyes closed. It was apparent that he had faded back into whatever state passed as a pained and exhausted sleep.  
"Very well", Monsieur Loiselet stood, the sight of Javert's exhausted form clearly having made up his mind, "Very well, take him".  
A gasp escaped Cosette as a smile erupted upon her face before she clamped her hand over her mouth to conceal it.  
"Oh Monsieur Loiselet!", she exclaimed.  
"We lost two inmates to the cold last winter. Granted one was old so it was not unexpected but I would prefer to avoid another... Besides, I cannot put my finger on it precisely, but there is a certain dignity to Javert and an honest determination in your desire to aid him that makes me begin to consider that there may indeed be a slim hope for him yet", Monsieur Loiselet explained before pausing, "and if his health does not recover... I feel it is only proper that he be allowed to die with some measure of dignity in a place more befitting that here. He was a policeman after all, that entitles him to a measure of respect".  
Cosette stepped nearer, a heartwarming tear escaping her eye and running down her face as she listened to Monsieur Loiselet's words.  
"Such kindness! May your deeds be blessed, but know this, Javert will not die... I will not let him die".  
Slowly Monsieur Loiselet moved to beside Javert and reached forward to place his hands upon the rope that fastened his wrist shackles to his ankle shackles.  
Silently he unfastened the rope, immediately easing the pressure from Javert's strained shoulders.  
Cosette watched as he then took a key from a small bunch secured to his belt.  
Moments later the shackles securing Javert's wrists behind his back dropped to the floor with a clang and his arms fell limp to his sides.  
Feeling compelled to help Cosette rushed forward, disbelief still lingering within her at the sight of Javert being released from his bonds.  
Despite the disbelief, a feeling of hope now slowly grew within her.  
Finally Monsieur Loiselet placed the last key into the padlock of Javert's metal collar.  
It clinked as the key turned, Monsieur Loiselet pulling the padlock free before slowly easing the imposing collar open.  
An involuntary moan escaped Javert as his bruised neck was finally freed and he slumped powerlessly forwards, both Cosette and Monsieur Loiselet reaching out to take his now unsupported weight.  
Holding Javert as best they could, Cosette and Monsieur Loiselet gently eased him slowly and gently to the ground until he lay still on his side unaware of the bargain that had been struck and the freedom that awaited him.  
Monsieur Loiselet stood, looking down upon Cosette as she again knelt next to Javert, her warm hand placed reassuringly upon his shoulder.  
"Come, you must have preparations to make. I will see to it that he is fed and that he is at least doused with clean water before he is freed".  
Cosette rose to her feet, glancing once more with concern to Javert as he lay oblivious before returning her gaze to Monsieur Loiselet.  
"I will go then. There is much to prepare...", she nodded, "but... Please will you watch over him?"  
"I will", Monsieur Loiselet agreed.  
A feeling of both accomplishment and concern dwelt within Cosette as she began to take her steps toward the cell door.  
There was indeed much to prepare.  
She would return home and ensure a peaceful room be arranged for Javert, that he would have adequate comfort to rest.  
Nicolette would need to be instructed to prepare something for Javert to eat. Nothing too grand as it would be too much and he would not be strong enough to remain awake for long.  
She would excuse herself from dinner tonight and watch over Javert.  
Marius was himself busy with paperwork regarding a new business venture and...  
Marius...  
Cosette's thoughts crashed to a halt.  
She had not consulted Marius.

 

There were times when Marius Pontmercy thought himself whimsical, lost in thought and giddy with affection.  
It was certain to Marius that as long as he were staring into the eyes of his beloved Cosette he was oblivious all else.  
With the recent passing of his uncle Gillenormand Marius had found himself unable to ignore the feeling of emptiness his loss had left within the house.  
The counterbalance to his feeling of loss was adoration for Cosette.  
He could not he imagined envision a day without watching her, listening to her or embracing her and despite their having been married over a year now his heart still positively fluttered every time she entered the room.  
Everything about Cosette was bright, as if sunshine and cheer were a part of the ingredients she had been created from.  
There was, Marius had surmised, nothing he would not do for her and nothing he would not give her, until today when Cosette had arrived home from the asylum highly upset and clearly set on a mission.  
Marius had not wished to upset Cosette any further but once she had returned home and taken herself straight upstairs he had followed, finding it odd that she had not sought him out in the drawing room to greet him with a kiss and her usual small talk.  
Concerned that something was amiss and with a growing sense of apprehension for his love he had made his way up the stairs to find Cosette stood outside the room that had prior to their wedding been intended for Jean Valjean.  
As he approached he realised she was hastily talking with Nicolette.  
An instruction to "begin preparations" was all Marius had managed to overhear as he stepped with curiosity toward his wife.  
Nicolette had nodded and then hurried away to carry out the instructions she had clearly been given.  
"Cosette my dearest?", Marius had called gently as he approached, "Is there something wrong?".  
It was at this point that Cosette bit her lip, events having moved so fast on this day that she had not yet given thought to how she was going to begin to broach this subject to Marius.  
Stepping nearer Marius reached out, taking Cosette's small hand in his own and raising it gently to his lips from where he placed as soft kiss upon her fingers.  
"What troubles you my sweet?", he asked, "Is it the asylum, did something happen? Did the Inspector upset you? My love I know you mean well but I knew this was a bad idea".  
With a squeeze of Marius' hand Cosette opened the door to the room originally intended for her Papa and led Marius inside.  
"Come...", she implored, nodding into the room for Marius to follow, "...There is something of great importance that I must explain privately".

 

The explanation had not taken long.  
Cosette had spoken the words, explained the facts as she knew them and now stood silently in the room awaiting the inevitable reaction.  
Marius in turn paced the room, striding to the window that overlooked the garden and shaking his head in disbelief before striding back to where Cosette stood next to the bed.  
He placed a hand on the top of the velvet armchair placed next to the bed as Cosette's words replayed through his mind and trying his hardest to fathom wether this was some kind of a joke.  
"My love I know you care deeply for all and that is one of your sweetest and most endearing qualities", he began with a most earnest voice, "but this... This is beyond charity. My sweet, this is foolish! The man is disturbed!"  
Cosette remained where she stood at the opposite side of the bed.  
"Marius please listen to me. Javert is sick, he is in pain and he is alone", Cosette spoke with urgency, "he has nobody, nobody at all".  
Shaking his head in disbelief Marius looked once more to the window before turning back to his wife.  
"I know you mean well Cosette, I really do but you seem to forget just who this man is and what he was to your father!".  
"I know perfectly well what he was", Cosette replied with simplicity and honestly, refusing to allow deeds of the past to cloud her vision of the future.  
Marius sighed and stepped towards the window, placing his hands on its cill and looking out into the world below.  
"Your father loathed that man", Marius said without turning back, watching as people passed by in the street going about their daily lives.  
"Papa hated no one", Cosette replied.  
She took a step forward, considering wether she should approach Marius but then deciding to keep a respectful distance as he considered.  
Arguing was a rarity that went almost unheard of between the young couple and Cosette felt unsure of what to do.  
"If anything, Papa valued forgiveness above all else. He did spare Javert, remember?".  
Without him even realising Marius' fingers were curling up into the palm of his hands as he thought back.  
"Yes...", he recalled with a tone uncharacteristically dark within his voice, "Yes, the policeman got away from the barricade alive... Such a shame nobody else did".  
Cosette fell silent, Marius too ceasing to speak any further.  
The silence that permeated the room held within its air a tension that felt like a glass that could shatter at any moment.  
Cosette observed her husband as he remained looking unfocused into nothing out of the window with his back to her.  
"Marius forgive me...", Cosette spoke quietly, "I did not mean to revive unpleasant memories with my words".  
"No...", Marius turned around slowly as his expression softened, leaning against the window cill and facing Cosette, "No, what's past is past my sweet. We should not argue like this".  
Cosette sat herself on the edge of the bed, eager to avoid any further arguing or ill feeling.  
"I do want to help him Marius. My dear you would not even recognise him now", Cosette looked down, her heart sinking with the memory of Javert.  
Marius stepped softly across the room, moving to the side of the bed where Cosette sat.  
Gently he sat down beside her, taking her hands warmly in his own.  
"But Javert of all people? Is there nowhere he can be sent instead to convalesce?", Marius pondered, "Somewhere he can be taken care of properly?".  
For the briefest of moments Cosette considered the idea.  
It was not an impossible idea.  
There were after all places where people sick or injured could be sent to convalesce but, Cosette considered, such a place would be run by people unknown to and untrusted by Javert.  
Trust was, Cosette had learned, key to overcoming the stony exterior and engaging with Javert and it was not something he gave easily especially when vulnerable.  
Javert's trust was something one had to earn.  
Even if a place of convalescence was run by the most well meaning of people, if they could not gain his trust then he would not permit their assistance.  
Sending him away would she concluded also be a betrayal, discarding him as if he were unwanted as society itself had done to him on several occasions.  
"No", she shook her head in rejection slowly as she looked deep into Marius' eyes, "I have formed a friendship with him in recent days, an unlikely friendship I admit, but I have come to know him, to respect him. Only the good Lord knows why but he trusts me. He is a good man".  
Marius looked down at the small hands held within his, caressing one of them with his thumb.  
"Oh Cosette my love", he sighed, "Your goodness really knows no bounds does it?".  
Cosette smiled a little in response as she enjoyed her beloveds soft touch.  
"We truly owe him everything Marius. If it were not for Javert we would not be sat here now, and you would be... well...", she found herself unable to even contemplate finishing the sentence.  
"I don't know...", Marius listened.  
"You know it's true", Cosette urged, "Yes Papa carried you to safety and at great personal risk but Javert was supposed to stop him, to arrest him and take him away yet he didn't. By letting Papa pass with you Javert saved your life just as much as Papa did. Perhaps this is one of the mysterious ways our Lord works?".  
"It seems absurd to think of it in this way", Marius gave a slight shrug.  
"I know, I know", Cosette agreed with her hands still enveloped by those of Marius, "but it is true and nothing can change that".  
Another silence settled as Marius' thoughts considered the options.  
"But what of his mental state? You have mentioned before that he suffers attacks of panic, anxiety, flashbacks?", Marius recalled.  
Cosette reluctantly nodded in response to these true facts.  
"And because of this he is chained like an animal", she explained, "Marius, it is inhumane! Javert needs to be treated humanely, with respect, with dignity and to be given the chance to heal, to overcome all that haunts him."  
"And what do we do when he suffers an attack here? Surely they keep him chained for a reason?", Marius questioned, "We can't have a man in the house who screams and cries out during the night?".  
"Really? Then what about the one I lie next to each night?", Cosette stopped the moment she had said this.  
Her eyes dropped to the floor, ashamed at her unthinking words.  
Marius too became silent, his mouth momentarily dropping open upon hearing his wife's response.  
For some moments nobody spoke or made even the slightest movement until Marius' stunned hands awkwardly released their grip on Cosette's  
"What do you mean?", Marius voice asked so quietly it could have almost gone unheard.  
There was another moment of silence before Cosette slowly looked back up and allowed her eyes to look upon Marius' shocked face, his expression one of surprise as Cosette's sudden revelation.  
"Marius I'm so sorry, I never should have said that", Cosette's voice was filled with regret.  
"No, tell me... Please...", Marius urged, once more taking Cosette's hands desperately into his own, "Tell me what you mean by that?".  
Cosette breathed out slowly and looked into the face of Marius.  
The young man looked suddenly to be a mixture of both sorrow and nervousness as he awaited the answer to his question.  
"Please...?", Marius urged in little more than a whisper.  
Cosette let out a sigh as she prepared to speak, considering how to arrange her words.  
"You say we cannot have a man in the house who screams and cries out in the night?", she repeated Marius's statement.  
Marius nodded in recognition at the statement he had just made.  
"I never said anything to you before... I didn't wish to upset you or embarrass you", Cosette began to explain, "but it is not unusual for you to do just that my love".  
Marius listened in silence.  
"I hear the names you cry out in your sleep, as you dream... I know each one well these days... Courfeyrac... Combeferre... Feuilly... Joly... Grantaire... But more often than not you come back to Enjolras and then Gavroche... More poignantly you cry silent tears for... Eponine".  
Marius remained sat, his face glancing down to the floor.  
He rubbed his eyes, attempting to hide the fact that they were fast moistening and his face reddening with emotion.  
With a gentle movement Cosette shuffled closer next to him and placed and arm around his lower back.  
"There is no shame in crying for your friends. Your physical wounds have healed but I know you Marius, I know you will hurt and grieve for a long time to come".  
A sniffle was stifled by Marius as he said nothing for some time.  
"I had no idea my sleep betrayed me...", Marius shuffled, his hand reaching into a pocket and retrieving a handkerchief, "But I do dream of them, of my friends, of the barricade, and by God Cosette it is vivid".  
Cosette gently urged Marius closer, the two leaning against one another as they sat on the disused bed.  
Marius dabbed his damp eyes with the handkerchief as Cosette moved her free hand to Marius' knee, gently squeezing to reassure him of her presence and love.  
"I will always be here Marius, to comfort, to listen, to help you. I do not care if it is day or night, I will always hold you when you seek solace", Cosette reassured, watching as Marius placed his hand atop of hers.  
"I am so lucky to have you", Marius looked up into his wife's eyes, his own tears beginning to subside as his love replaced the ever present grief.  
"And I you", Cosette smiled lovingly as Marius's arm wrapped itself around her own back allowing the couple to lean lovingly against each other side by side, "But Marius, please consider... Javert has nobody. Nobody at all".  
Silence broke once more into the conversation and yet the couple did not move, remaining as they were sat warmly side by side.  
A sigh finally escaped Marius and Cosette looked to him, her eyes becoming saddened.  
"His pain is as deep as yours Marius, only he has nobody to turn to. Nobody holds him, listens to him or reassures him. Nobody cares".  
"Yet I am not mad", Marius countered quietly, determined to keep the conversation civil.  
"That is because you can live. You have me, we have our love, you have your life, your freedom", Cosette implored, "Javert has nothing... Can you not see the man must be shown mercy? We must repay this man to whom we owe so much".  
Marius sighed in deep consideration, his feelings becoming ever more mixed towards the notion of allowing a man such as Javert into his house.  
"Marius, he has committed no crime. Every moment he sits locked in that accursed cell is a betrayal", Cosette became quiet before looking once more to Marius, "The damp, the cold, his illness... If he stays there much longer I fear he will die there".  
Marius closed his eyes momentarily, the decision weighing heavily upon him.  
Initially the very thought of allowing Javert into the home of both he and his wife had seemed objectionable if not even deplorable.  
The man had been the life long nemesis of Jean Valjean, the man he revered like a saint and fully credited with saving his life and giving him Cosette.  
Valjean had raised Cosette to be the woman he loved and the very concept of accepting Javert into their midst had initially felt like a betrayal of Valjean, as if allowing a wolf to prowl amongst innocent lambs.  
Cosette's words, spoken with the honesty he trusted implicitly and her non judgemental desire to help those less fortunate had chipped away at his initial inclination to refuse her request.  
She would not lie or exaggerate the mans conditions and the thought that Javert may die if not assisted strangely unsettled Marius.  
Having been on opposing sides at the barricade he still felt a natural distaste toward the man, but could he willingly and knowingly leave a man to die in such squalid conditions?  
Another thought burst into Marius' mind as he considered.  
If he refused and news were to come of Javert's death in the asylum, what would it do to Cosette?  
Would she think less of her husband and question his humanity?  
Would he in turn question his own humanity?  
Was it possible that a little mercy was truly beyond him?  
And if so, when did this occur?  
And if as he feared news eventually came of Javert's death, what also would it do to himself?  
Marius frowned, his morals fighting that which he considered to be his better judgement.  
He ran a hand across his chin in troubled thought and got to his feet, stepping aimlessly toward the wall before turning back to face Cosette.  
"I cannot knowingly, willingly or with good conscience condemn my fellow man to death", Marius finally declared.  
Cosette looked up, her expression one of disbelief and a barely suppressed smile.  
"Have Javert brought here", he announced abruptly, "See to it that he receives all the care he requires".  
Cosette leapt to her feet as she heard the words, a joyous smile erupting upon her face.  
Her small feet carried her towards Marius and she flung her arms around him in the warmest of embraces.  
Marius returned the gesture, wrapping his arms around his wife, holding her close and feeling the beating of her heart as it pounded with relief with the easing of her tension.  
"Oh Marius, do you really mean it?", Cosette breathed out in relief, "Such kindness, I think I might cry!".  
Marius pulled back slightly, holding Cosette warmly before him with a hand atop of each arm.  
True to her word tears had formed within Cosette's eyes, tears of happiness as she smiled at her husband.  
"Marius, may God bless you my dear sweet husband!", Cosette exclaimed raising her eyes Heavenward as she looked into Marius' eyes with deepest affection, "I think you have truly just saved a life!".  
"There is a condition...", Marius expression changed to one of seriousness.  
Cosette paused herself, still listening as she were held softly by Marius' hands.  
"If he harms you, or so much as raises a finger to you or to anybody at all, he is out. Back to the asylum, to the streets, to jail, I do not care", Marius' words conveyed steadfast his inflexibility on this one condition before his voice softened again, "But for now my love, we will give him a chance to recuperate in safety and to prove our... your... faith in him".  
Cosette stepped forward briskly and placed a delighted kiss upon Marius' lips.  
"Oh Marius, he is in so much pain he can barely stand let alone raise a hand to anybody. I shall see to it immediately"  
Cosette broke from Marius' warm grasp and looked around the room eagerly, surveying it as thoughts of preparation rushed through her mind like a sudden whirlwind.  
"This room has sat for too long", Cosette decided, "the windows must be opened and the room aired, the bed has sat for some time so will need fresh sheets. I will have Nicolette prepare everything... And water. He must have a jug of water and a glass on the bedside table. Soup! I think I shall have Nicolette prepare a simple soup. He has not eaten decent food for so long and I do not think that with his illness he will manage much more. And extra blankets, incase he is cold..."  
"Cosette...", Marius remained stood as he was, "...Please. Do not fuss. I shall have Nicolette make the necessary preparations. You go and see to Javert".  
Cosette turned back to face Marius, her thoughts of preparation slowing to a more controlled pace.  
"Very well", she smiled and began to walk towards the door making sure that her hand brushed gently against Marius' own as she passed.  
She stopped in the doorway and slowly looked back, "This time tomorrow, Javert will be free".

 

"Tear those ragged clothes off him...".  
He was neither asleep nor awake but drifting somewhere in a limbo between the two where he lay and yet he felt the touch of hands moving him, rolling him onto his aching back as his ears took in the sound of tearing and his skin felt the dirty rags being pulled from his body.  
Something was happening yet exhaustion prevented him from carrying out the simple act of forcing his eyes open.  
His fogged mind acknowledged the sudden sensation as splashes of cold water made contact with his skin and sopping wet cloths were dabbed and wiped over his face and body.  
Thoughts failed to materialise and he lay still, his mind so far from lucid that he were unable to even fathom his lack of modesty as he lay stripped, the dirt of his almost two year ordeal being washed from him.  
His eyes remained closed throughout and his breathing steady.  
The washing of his body had stopped and now the sensation of touches moved to his face and the long beard he had reluctantly grown during his incarceration.  
Touches he barely registered worked away, snipping until a firm pair of hands held his head still and an object, a razor blade, was eased across his face by other hands.  
After some time the touches, touches Javert was not even sure were real or dreamt, left him.  
Faint words about "dressing him when dry" were heard before the familiar sound came of the cell door closing.  
He made no thought to considering the words or the meaning of their actions, instead drifting back into sleep.


End file.
